^      1W 


"Don't  think  that  makes  any  difference.     I   shall  marry   him 
just  the  same. 
Frontispice.  —The  Trail  of  the  Axe. 


The 

Trail  of  the  Axe 

A  Story  of  the  Red  Sand  Valley 
BY  RIDGEWELL  CULLUM 

Author  of   "The   Watchers   of  the   Plains," 
"The  Sheriff  of  Dyke  Hole,"  etc. 


WITH  FRONTISPIECE  IN  COLORS 
BY  CLARENCE  F.  UNDERWOOD 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  1910,  by 
GEORGE  W.  JACOBS  &  COMPANY 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. 


I.     DAVE 7 

II.  A  PICNIC  IN  THE  RED  SAND  VALLEY          .       19 

III.  AFFAIRS  IN  MALKERN     .         ...       36 

IV.  DICK  MANSELL'S  NEWS  ....       49 
V.  JIM  TRUSCOTT  RETURNS          ...       59 

VI.  PARSON  TOM  INTERFERES         .         .         .72 

VII.  THE  WORK  AT  THE  MILLS      ...       84 

VIII.  AT  THE  CHURCH  BAZAAR         .         .         .      loo 

IX.  IN  DAVE'S  OFFICE           .         .         .         .117 

X.  AN  AUSPICIOUS  MEETING        .         .         -134 

XI.  THE  SUMMER  RAINS       .         .         .         .147 

XII.     THE  OLD  MILLS 158 

XIII.  BETTY  DECIDES 171 

XIV.  THE  MILLS 1 80 

XV.  BETTY  TAKES  COVER      .         .         .         .189 

XVI.  DISASTER  AT  THE  MILL  ....     204 

XVII.  THE  LAST  OF  THE  SAWYER      .         .         .217 

XVIII.     FACE  TO  FACE 232 

XIX.  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS        ....     245 

XX.  THE  CHURCH  MILITANT         .         .         .257 

XXI.  AN  ADVENTURE  IN  THE  FOG    .         .         .272 

XXII.  TERROR  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS    .         .         .     287 

XXIII.  THE  RED  TIDE  OF  ANARCHY  .         .         .     298 


2135876 


CONTENTS 


XXIV.  IN  THE  DEAD  OF  NIGHT 

XXV.  MASON'S  PRISONER 

XXVI.  To  THE  LUMBER  CAMP  . 

XXVII.  AT  BAY        . 

XXVIII.  DAVE— THE  MAN  . 

XXIX.  THE  END  OF  THE  STRIKE 

XXX.  IN  THE  DUGOUT    . 

XXXI.  AT  MIDNIGHT       .         . 

XXXII.  Two  MEN— AND  A  WOMAN 


316 

332 
344 
35° 
359 
378 
386 
402 
4" 


The  Trail  of  the  Axe 


CHAPTER  I 

DAVE 

DAVE  was  thirty-two,  but  looked  forty ;  for,  in 
moulding  his  great,  strong,  ugly  face,  Nature  had 
been  less  than  kind  to  him.  It  is  probable,  from 
his  earliest,  Dave  had  never  looked  less  than  ten 
years  older  than  he  really  was. 

Observing  him  closely,  one  had  the  impression 
that  Nature  had  set  herself  the  task  of  equipping 
him  for  a  tremendous  struggle  in  the  battle  of  life ; 
as  though  she  had  determined  to  make  him  invin- 
cible. Presuming  this  to  have  been  her  purpose, 
she  set  to  work  with  a  liberal  hand.  She  gave  him 
a  big  heart,  doubtless  wishing  him  to  be  strong  to 
fight  and  of  a  great  courage,  yet  with  a  wonderful 
sympathy  for  the  beaten  foe.  She  gave  him  the 
thews  and  sinews  of  a  Hercules,  probably  arguing 
that  a  man  must  possess  a  mighty  strength  with 
which  to  carry  himself  to  victory.  To  give  him 
such  physical  strength  it  was  necessary  to  provide 
a  body  in  keeping.  Thus,  his  shoulders  were  ab- 
normally wide,  his  chest  was  of  a  mighty  girth,  his 


8  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

arms  were  of  phenomenal  length,  and  his  legs  were 
gnarled  and  knotted  with  muscles  which  could 
never  be  satisfactorily  disguised  by  the  class  of 
"  store  "  clothes  it  was  his  frugal  custom  to  wear. 

For  his  head  Nature  gave  him  a  fine,  keen  brain ; 
strong,  practical,  subtly  far-seeing  in  matters  com- 
mercial, bluntly  honest  and  temperate,  yet  withal 
matching  his  big  heart  in  kindly  sympathy.  It 
was  thrilling  with  a  vast  energy  and  capacity  for 
work,  but  so  pronounced  was  its  dominating  force, 
that  in  the  development  of  his  physical  features  it 
completely  destroyed  all  delicacy  of  mould  and 
gentleness  of  expression.  He  displayed  to  the 
world  the  hard,  rugged  face  of  the  fighter,  without 
any  softening,  unless,  perhaps,  one  paused  to  look 
into  the  depths  of  his  deep-set  gray  eyes. 

Nature  undoubtedly  fulfilled  her  purpose.  Dave 
was  equipped  as  few  men  are  equipped,  and  if  it 
were  to  be  regretted  that  his  architect  had  forgot- 
ten that  even  a  fighting  man  has  his  gentler  mo- 
ments, and  that  there  are  certain  requirements  in 
his  construction  to  suit  him  to  such  moments,  in 
all  other  respects  he  had  been  treated  lavishly. 
Summed  up  briefly,  Dave  was  a  tower  of  physical 
might,  with  a  face  of  striking  plainness. 

It  was  twelve  years  since  he  came  to  the  Red 
Sand  Valley.  He  was  then  fresh  from  the  lumber 
regions  of  Puget  Sound,  on  the  western  coast  of 
the  United  States.  He  came  to  Western  Canada 
in  search  of  a  country  to  make  his  own,  with  a 
small  capital  and  a  large  faith  in  himself,  supported 


DAVE  9 

by  a  courage  that  did  not  know  the  meaning  of  de- 
feat. 

He  found  the  Red  Sand  Valley  nestling  in  the 
foot-hills  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  He  saw  the 
wonders  of  the  magnificent  pine  woods  which  cov- 
ered the  mountain  slopes  in  an  endless  sea  of  deep, 
sombre  green.  And  he  knew  that  these  wonderful 
primordial  wastes  were  only  waiting  for  the  axe  of 
the  woodsman  to  yield  a  building  lumber  second  to 
none  in  the  world. 

The  valley  offered  him  everything  he  needed. 
A  river  that  flowed  in  full  tide  all  the  open  season, 
with  possibilities  of  almost  limitless  "  timber  booms  " 
in  its  backwaters,  a  delicious  setting  for  a  village, 
with  the  pick  of  a  dozen  adequate  sites  for  the 
building  of  lumber  mills.  He  could  hope  to  find 
nothing  better,  so  he  stayed. 

His  beginning  was  humble.  He  started  with  a 
horse-power  saw-pit,  and  a  few  men  up  in  the  hills 
cutting  for  him.  But  he  had  begun  his  great 
struggle  with  fortune,  and,  in  a  man  such  as  Nature 
had  made  him,  it  was  a  struggle  that  could  only 
end  with  his  life.  The  battle  was  tremendous,  but 
he  never  hesitated,  he  never  flinched. 

Small  as  was  his  beginning,  six  years  later  his 
present  great  mills  and  the  village  of  Malkern  had 
begun  to  take  shape.  Then,  a  year  later,  the  result 
of  his  own  persistent  representation,  the  Canadian 
Northwestern  Railroad  built  a  branch  line  to  his 
valley.  And  so,  in  seven  years,  his  success  was 
practically  assured. 


10  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

Now  he  was  comfortably  prosperous.  The  vil- 
lage was  prosperous.  But  none  knew  better  than 
he  how  much  still  remained  to  be  achieved  before 
the  foundations  of  his  little  world  were  adequate  to 
support  the  weight  of  the  vast  edifice  of  commer- 
cial enterprise,  which,  with  his  own  two  hands,  his 
own  keen  brain,  he  hoped  to  erect. 

He  was  an  American  business  man  raised  in  the 
commercial  faith  of  his  country.  He  understood 
the  value  of  "  monopoly,"  and  he  made  for  it. 
Thus,  when  he  could  ill  spare  capital,  by  dint  of 
heavy  borrowings  he  purchased  all  the  land  he  re- 
quired, and  the  "  lumbering "  rights  of  that  vast 
region. 

Then  it  was  that  he  extended  operations.  He 
abandoned  his  first  mill  and  began  the  building  of 
his  larger  enterprise  further  down  the  valley,  at  a 
point  where  he  had  decided  that  the  village  of 
Malkern  should  also  begin  its  growth. 

Once  the  new  mill  was  safely  established  he  sold 
his  old  one  to  a  man  who  had  worked  with  him 
from  the  start.  The  transaction  was  more  in  the 
nature  of  a  gift  to  an  old  friend  and  comrade.  The 
price  was  nominal,  but  the  agreement  was  binding 
that  the  mill  should  only  be  used  for  the  production 
of  small  building  material,  and  under  no  circum- 
stances to  be  used  in  the  production  of  rough 
"  baulks."  This  was  to  protect  his  own  monopoly 
in  that  class  of  manufacture. 

George  Truscott,  the  lumberman  with  whom  he 
made  the  transaction,  worked  the  old  mills  with 


DAVE  II 

qualified  success  for  two  years.  Then  he  died  sud- 
denly of  blood-poisoning,  supervening  upon  a  badly 
mutilated  arm  torn  by  one  of  his  own  saws.  The 
mill  automatically  became  the  property  of  his  only 
son  Jim,  a  youth  of  eighteen,  curly-headed,  bright, 
lovable,  but  wholly  irresponsible  for  such  an  up-hill 
fight  as  the  conduct  of  the  business  his  father  had 
left  him. 

The  master  of  the  Malkern  mills,  as  might  be  ex- 
pected, was  a  man  of  simple  habits  and  frugal 
tastes.  In  his  early  struggles  he  had  had  neither 
time  nor  money  with  which  to  indulge  himself,  and 
the  habit  of  simple  living  had  grown  upon  him. 
He  required  so  very  little.  He  had  no  luxurious 
home ;  a  mere  cottage  of  four  rooms  and  a  kitchen, 
over  which  an  aged  and  doting  mother  ruled,  her 
establishment  consisting  of  one  small  maid.  His 
office  was  a  shack  of  two  rooms,  bare  but  useful, 
containing  one  chair  and  one  desk,  and  anything  he 
desired  to  find  a  temporary  safe  resting-place  for 
strewn  about  the  floor,  or  hung  upon  nails  driven  into 
the  walls.  It  was  all  he  needed,  a  roof  to  shade  him 
from  the  blazing  summer  sun  when  he  was  making 
uphis  books,  and  four  walls  to  shut  out  the  cruel  blasts 
of  the  Canadian  winter. 

He  was  sitting  at  his  desk  now,  poring  over  a  heap 
of  letters  which  had  just  arrived  by  the  Eastern 
mail.  This  was  the  sort  of  thing  he  detested. 
Correspondence  entailed  a  lot  of  writing,  and  he 
hated  writing.  Figures  he  could  cope  with,  he  had 
no  grudge  against  them,  but  composing  letters  was 


12  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

a  task  for  which  he  did  not  feel  himself  adequately 
equipped ;  words  did  not  flow  easily  from  his  pen. 
His  education  was  rather  the  education  of  a  man 
who  goes  through  the  world  with  ears  and  eyes  wide 
open.  He  had  a  wide  knowledge  of  men  and 
things,  but  the  inside  of  books  was  a  realm  into 
which  he  had  not  deeply  delved. 

At  last  he  pushed  his  letters  aside  and  sat  back, 
his  complaining  chair  protesting  loudly  at  the  bur- 
den imposed  upon  it.  He  drew  an  impatient  sigh, 
and  began  to  fill  his  pipe,  gazing  through  the  rain- 
stained  window  under  which  his  untidy  desk  stood. 
He  had  made  up  his  mind  to  leave  the  answering  of 
his  letters  until  later  in  the  day,  and  the  decision 
brought  him  some  relief. 

He  reached  for  the  matches.  But  suddenly  he  al- 
tered his  mind  and  removed  his  pipe  from  his 
mouth.  A  smile  shone  in  his  deep-set  eyes  at  the 
sight  of  a  dainty,  white  figure  which  had  just 
emerged  from  behind  a  big  stack  of  milled  timber 
out  in  the  yard  and  was  hurrying  toward  the  office. 

He  needed  no  second  glance  to  tell  him  who  the 
figure  belonged  to.  It  was  Betty — little  Betty 
Somers,  as  he  loved  to  call  her — who  taught  the  ex- 
treme youth  of  Malkern  out  of  her  twenty-two  years 
of  erudition  and  worldly  wisdom. 

He  sprang  from  his  chair  and  went  to  the  door  to 
meet  her,  and  as  he  walked  his  great  bulk  and  vast 
muscle  gave  his  gait  something  of  the  roll  of  a  sailor. 
He  had  no  lightness,  no  grace  in  his  movements  ; 
just  the  ponderous  slowness  of  monumental  strength. 


DAVE  13 

He  stood  awaiting  her  in  the  doorway,  which  he  al- 
most filled  up. 

Betty  was  not  short,  but  he  towered  above  her  as 
she  came  up,  his  six  feet  five  inches  making  nothing 
of  her  five  feet  six. 

"  This  is  bully,"  he  cried  delightedly,  as  she  stood 
before  him.  "  I  hadn't  a  notion  you  were  getting 
around  this  morning,  Betty." 

His  voice  was  as  unwieldy  as  his  figure ;  it  was 
husky  too,  in  the  manner  of  powerful  voices  when 
their  owners  attempt  to  moderate  them.  The  girl 
laughed  frankly  up  into  his  face. 

"  I'm  playing  truant,"  she  explained.  Then  her 
pretty  lips  twisted  wryly,  and  she  pointed  at  the 
lintel  of  the  door.  "  Please  sit  down  there,"  she 
commanded.  Then  she  laughed  again.  "  I  want  to 
talk  to  you,  and — and  I  have  no  desire  to  dislocate 
my  neck." 

He  made  her  feel  so  absurdly  small ;  she  was 
never  comfortable  unless  he  was  sitting  down. 

The  man  grinned  humorously  at  her  imperious 
tone,  and  sat  down.  They  were  great  friends,  these 
two.  Betty  looked  upon  him  as  a  very  dear,  big, 
ugly  brother  to  whom  she  could  always  carry  all 
her  little  worries  and  troubles,  and  ever  be  sure  of  a 
sympathetic  adviser.  It  never  occurred  to  her  that 
Dave  could  be  anything  dearer  to  anybody.  He 
was  just  Dave — dear  old  Dave, an  appellation  which 
seemed  to  fit  him  exactly. 

The  thought  of  him  as  a  lover  was  quite  impos- 
sible. It  never  entered  her  head.  Probably  the 


I4  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

only  people  in  Malkern  who  ever  considered  the 
possibility  of  Dave  as  a  lover  were  his  own  mother, 
and  perhaps  Mrs.  Tom  Chepstow.  But  then  they 
were  wiser  than  most  of  the  women  of  the  village. 
Besides,  doubtless  his  mother  was  prejudiced,  and 
Mrs.  Tom,  in  her  capacity  as  the  wife  of  the  Rev. 
Tom  Chepstow,  made  it  her  business  to  study  the 
members  of  her  husband's  parish  more  carefully 
than  the  other  women  did.  But  to  the  ordinary  ob- 
server he  certainly  did  not  suggest  the  lover.  He 
was  so  strong,  so  cumbersome,  so  unromantic.  Then 
his  ways  were  so  deliberate,  so  machine-like.  It 
almost  seemed  as  though  he  had  taken  to  him- 
self something  of  the  harsh  precision  of  his  own 
mills. 

On  the  other  hand,  his  regard  for  Betty  was  a 
matter  of  less  certainty.  Good  comradeship  was 
the  note  he  always  struck  in  their  intercourse,  but 
oftentimes  there  would  creep  into  his  gray  eyes  a 
look  which  spoke  of  a  warmth  of  feeling  only  held 
under  because  his  good  sense  warned  him  of  the 
utter  hopelessness  of  it.  He  was  too  painfully  aware 
of  the  quality  of  Betty's  regard  for  him  to  permit 
himself  any  false  hopes. 

Betty's  brown  eyes  took  on  a  smiling  look  of  re- 
proach as  she  held  up  a  warning  finger. 

"  Dave,"  she  said,  with  mock  severity,  "  I  always 
have  to  remind  you  of  our  compact.  I  insist  that 
you  sit  down  when  I  am  talking  to  you.  I  refuse 
to  be  made  to  feel — and  look — small.  Now  light 
your  pipe  and  listen  to  me." 


DAVE  15 

"  Go  ahead,"  he  grinned,  striking  a  match.  His 
plain  features  literally  shone  with  delight  at  her 
presence  there.  Her  small  oval,  sun-tanned  face 
was  so  bright,  so  full  of  animation,  so  healthy  look- 
ing. There  was  such  a  delightful  frankness  about 
her.  Her  figure,  perfectly  rounded,  was  slim  and 
athletic,  and  her  every  movement  suggested  the 
open  air  and  perfect  health. 

"  Well,  it's  this  way,"  she  began,  seating  herself 
on  the  corner  of  a  pile  of  timber :  "  I'm  out  on  the 
war-path.  I  want  scalps.  My  pocketbook  is 
empty  and  needs  filling,  and  when  that's  done  I'll 
get  back  to  my  school  children,  on  whose  behalf  I 
am  out  hunting." 

"  It's  your  picnic  ?  "  suggested  Dave. 

"  Not  mine.  The  kiddies'.  So  now,  old  boy, 
put  up  your  hands  !  It's  your  money  or  your  life." 
And  she  sat  threatening  him  with  her  pocketbookk 
pointing  it  at  him  as  though  it  were  a  pistol. 

Dave  removed  his  pipe. 

"  Guess  you'd  best  have  'em  both,"  he  smiled. 

But  Betty  shook  her  head  with  a  joyous  laugh. 

"  I  only  want  your  money,"  she  said,  extending 
an  open  hand  toward  him. 

Dave  thrust  deep  into  his  hip-pocket,  and  pro- 
duced a  roll  of  bills. 

"  It's  mostly  that  way,"  he  murmured,  counting 
them  out. 

But  his  words  had  reached  the  girl,  and  her  laugh 
died  suddenly. 

"  Oh,  Dave  ! "  she  said  reproachfully. 


16  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

And  the  man's  contrition  set  him  blundering. 

"  Say,  Betty,  I'm  a  fool  man  anyway.  Don't 
take  any  sort  of  notice.  I  didn't  mean  a  thing. 
Now  here's  fifty,  and  you  can  have  any  more  you 
need." 

He  looked  straight  into  her  eyes,  which  at  once 
responded  to  his  anxious  smile.  But  she  did  not 
attempt  to  take  the  money.  She  shook  her  head. 

"  Too  much." 

But  he  pushed  the  bills  into  her  hand. 

"  You  can't  refuse,"  he  said.  "  You  see,  it's  for 
the  kiddies.  It  isn't  just  for  you." 

When  Dave  insisted  refusal  was  useless.  Betty 
had  long  since  learned  that.  Besides,  as  he  said,  it 
was  for  the  "  kiddies."  She  took  the  money,  and 
he  sat  and  watched  her  as  she  folded  the  bills  into 
her  pocketbook.  The  girl  looked  up  at  the  sound 
of  a  short  laugh. 

"  What's  that  for  ? "  she  demanded,  her  brown 
eyes  seriously  inquiring. 

"  Oh,  just  nothing.     I  was  thinking." 

The  man  glanced  slowly  about  him.  He  looked 
up  at  the  brilliant  summer  sun.  Then  his  eyes 
rested  upon  the  rough  exterior  of  his  unpretentious 
office. 

"  It  meant  something,"  asserted  Betty.  "  I  hate 
people  to  laugh — in  that  way." 

"  I  was  thinking  of  this  shack  of  mine.  I  was 
just  thinking,  Betty,  what  a  heap  of  difference  an 
elegant  coat  of  paint  makes  to  things.  You  see, 
they're  just  the  same  underneath,  but  they — kind  of 


DAVE  17 

look  different  with  paint  on  'em,  kind  of  please  the 
eye  more." 

"  Just  so,"  the  girl  nodded  wisely.  "  And  so  you 
laughed — in  that  way." 

Dave's  eyes  twinkled. 

"  You're  too  sharp,"  he  said.  Then  he  abruptly 
changed  the  subject. 

"  Now  about  this  picnic.  You're  expecting  all 
the  grown  folk  ?  " 

The  girl's  eyes  opened  to  their  fullest  extent. 

"Of  course  I  do.  Don't  you  always  come?  It's 
only  once  a  year."  The  last  was  very  like  a  re- 
proach. 

The  man  avoided  her  eyes.  He  was  looking  out 
across  the  sea  of  stacked  timber  at  the  great  sheds 
beyond,  where  the  saws  were  shrieking  out  their 
incessant  song. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  he  began  awkwardly,  "  that 
I'm  not  much  good  at  those  things.  Of  course  I 
guess  I  can  hand  pie  round  to  the  folks  ;  any  fellow 
can  do  that.  But " 

"  But  what  ?  "  The  girl  had  risen  from  her  seat 
and  was  trying  to  compel  his  gaze. 

"  Well,  you  see,  we're  busy  here — desperately 
busy.  Dawson's  always  grumbling  that  we're 
short-handed " 

Betty  came  up  close  to  him,  and  he  suddenly  felt 
a  gentle  squeeze  on  his  shoulder. 

"  You  don't  want  to  come,"  she  said. 

"  Tisn't  that — not  exactly." 

He  kept  his  eyes  turned  from  her. 


i8  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

"You  see,"  he  went  on,"  you'll  have  such  a  heap 
of  folk  there.  They  mostly  all  get  around — for 
you.  Then  there'll  be  Jim  Truscott,  and  Jim's 
worth  a  dozen  of  me  when  it  comes  to  picnics  and 
'  sociables  '  and  such-like." 

The  girl's  hand  suddenly  dropped  from  his 
shoulder,  and  she  turned  away.  A  flush  slowly 
mounted  to  her  sun-tanned  cheeks,  and  she  was 
angry  at  it.  She  stood  looking  out  at  the  mills 
beyond,  but  she  wasn't  thinking  of  them. 

At  last  she  turned  back  to  her  friend  and  her 
soft  eyes  searched  his. 

"  If — if  you  don't  come  to  the  picnic  to-morrow, 
I'll  never  forgive  you,  Dave — never ! " 

And  she  was  gone  before  his  slow  tongue  could 
frame  a  further  excuse. 


CHAPTER  II 

A    PICNIC   IN    THE    RED   SAND   VALLEY 

SUMMER,  at  the  foot  of  the  Canadian  Rockies, 
sets  in  suddenly.  There  are  no  dreary  days  of 
damp  and  cold  when  the  east  wind  bites  through  to 
the  bones  and  chills  right  down  to  the  marrow. 
One  moment  all  is  black,  dead ;  the  lean  branches 
and  dead  grass  of  last  year  make  a  waste  of  dreary 
decay.  Watch.  See  the  magic  of  the  change. 
The  black  of  the  trees  gives  way  to  a  warming 
brown  ;  the  grass,  so  sad  in  its  depression,  suddenly 
lightens  with  the  palest  hue  of  green.  There  is  at 
once  a  warmth  of  tone  which  spreads  itself  over  the 
world,  and  gladdens  the  heart  and  sets  the  pulses 
throbbing  with  renewed  life  and  hope.  Animal  life 
stirs ;  the  insect  world  rouses.  At  the  sun's  first 
smile  the  whole  earth  wakens ;  it  yawns  and 
stretches  itself;  it  blinks  and  rubs  its  eyes,  and 
presently  it  smiles  back.  The  smile  broadens  into 
a  laugh,  and  lo !  it  is  summer,  with  all  the  world 
clad  in  festal  raiment,  gorgeous  in  its  myriads  of 
changing  color-harmonies. 

It  was  on  such  a  day  in  the  smiling  valley  of  the 
Red  Sand  River  that  Betty  Somers  held  her  school 
picnic.  There  were  no  shadows  to  mar  the  festivi- 
ties she  had  arranged.  The  sky  was  brilliant, 
cloudless,  and  early  in  the  season  as  it  was,  the 


20  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

earth  was  already  beginning  to  crack  and  parch  un- 
der the  fiery  sun. 

A  dozen  democrat  wagons,  bedecked  with  flags 
and  filled  to  overflowing  with  smiling,  rosy-faced 
children,  each  wagon  under  the  charge  of  one  of 
the  village  matrons,  set  out  at  eight  o'clock  in  the 
morning  for  the  camping-ground.  Besides  these, 
an  hour  later,  a  large  number  of  private  buggies 
conveyed  the  parents  and  provender,  while  the 
young  people  of  the  village  rode  out  on  horseback 
as  a  sort  of  escort  to  the  commissariat.  It  was  a 
gay  throng,  and  there  could  be  little  doubt  but  that 
the  older  folk  were  as  delighted  at  the  prospect  of 
the  outing  as  the  children  themselves. 

Dave  was  there  with  the  rest.  Betty's  challenge 
had  had  its  effect.  But  he  came  without  any  of 
the  enthusiasm  of  the  rest  of  the  young  people.  It 
was  perfectly  true  that  the  demands  of  his  mill 
made  the  outing  inconvenient  to  him,  but  that  was 
not  the  real  reason  of  his  reluctance.  There  was 
another,  a  far  stronger  one.  All  the  years  of  his 
manhood  had  taught  him  that  there  was  small 
place  for  him  where  the  youth  of  both  sexes  fore- 
gathered. His  body  was  too  cumbersome,  his 
tongue  was  too  slow,  and  his  face  was  too  plain. 
The  dalliance  of  man  and  maid  was  not  for  him,  he 
knew,  and  did  he  ever  doubt  or  forget  it,  his  look- 
ing-glass, like  an  evil  spirit,  was  ever  ready  to 
remind  and  convince  him. 

The  picnic  ground  was  some  five  miles  down  the 
valley,  in  the  depths  of  a  wide,  forest-grown  glen, 


A  PICNIC  IN  THE  RED  SAND  VALLEY   21 

through  which  a  tiny  tributary  of  the  Red  Sand 
River  tumbled  its  way  over  a  series  of  miniature 
waterfalls.  The  place  was  large  and  magnificently 
rock-bound,  and  looked  as  though  it  had  originally 
been  chiseled  by  Nature  to  accommodate  a  rush- 
ing mountain  torrent.  It  gave  one  the  impression 
of  a  long  disused  waterway  which,  profiting  by  its 
original  purpose,  had  become  so  wonderfully  fertil- 
ized that  its  vegetation  had  grown  out  of  all  pro- 
portion to  its  capacity.  It  was  a  veritable  jungle  of 
undergrowth  and  forest,  so  dense  and  wide  spread- 
ing as  almost  to  shut  out  the  dazzling  sunlight.  It 
was  an  ideal  pleasure  camping-ground,  where  the 
children  could  romp  and  play  every  game  known 
to  the  Western  child,  and  their  elders  could  revel 
in  the  old,  old  game  which  never  palls,  and  which 
the  practice  of  centuries  can  never  rob  of  its  youth. 

All  the  morning  the  children  played,  while  the 
women  were  kept  busy  with  the  preparations  for 
the  midday  feast.  The  men  were  divided  up  into 
two  sections,  the  elders,  taking  office  under  the 
command  of  Tom  Chepstow,  organizing  the  chil- 
dren's games,  and  the  other  half,  acknowledging 
the  leadership  of  Mrs.  Tom,  assisting  those  engaged 
in  the  culinary  arrangements. 

As  might  be  expected,  the  latter  occupation 
found  most  favor  with  the  younger  men.  There 
was  far  more  fun  in  wandering  through  the  tangled 
undergrowth  of  the  riverside  to  help  a  girl  fill  a 
kettle,  than  in  racking  one's  brains  for  some  start- 
lingly  unoriginal  and  long -forgotten  game  with 


22  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

which  to  dazzle  the  mind  of  Malkern's  youth. 
Then  there  were  the  joys  of  gathering  fire-wood,  a 
task  which  enlisted  the  services  of  at  least  a  dozen 
couples.  This  was  a  much  favored  occupation. 
There  was  no  time  limit,  and  it  involved  a  long, 
long  ramble.  Then,  too,  it  was  remarkable  that 
every  girl  performing  the  simplest  duty,  and  one  in 
which  she  never  required  the  least  assistance  when 
at  home,  found  it  quite  impossible  to  do  so  here 
without  the  strong  physical  and  moral  support  of 
the  man  she  most  favored. 

Thus  the  morning  passed.  While  the  girls  and 
men  flirted,  and  the  older  women  took  to  them- 
selves a  reflected  enjoyment  of  it  all,  the  children 
shrieked  their  delight  at  the  simplest  game,  and 
baited  their  elders  with  all  the  impudence  of  child- 
hood. It  was  a  morning  of  delight  to  all ;  a  morn- 
ing when  the  sluggish  blood  of  the  oldest  quickened 
in  the  sunken  veins ;  a  morning  when  the  joy  of 
living  was  uppermost,  and  all  care  was  thrust  into 
the  background. 

It  was  not  until  after  dinner  that  Dave  saw  any- 
thing of  Betty.  As  he  had  anticipated,  Jim  Trus- 
cott  never  left  her  side,  and  his  own  morning  had 
been  spent  with  Tom  Chepstow  and  the  children. 
Then,  at  dinner,  it  had  fallen  to  his  lot  to  assist  the 
matrons  in  waiting  upon  the  same  riotous  horde. 
In  consequence,  by  the  time  he  got  his  own  meal, 
Betty  and  the  younger  section  of  the  helpers  had  fin- 
ished theirs  and  were  wandering  oflf  into  the  woods. 

After  dinner  he  sought  out  a  secluded   spot  in 


A  PICNIC  IN  THE  RED  SAND  VALLEY   23 

which  to  smoke  and — make  the  best  of  things. 
He  felt  he  had  earned  a  rest.  His  way  took  him 
along  the  bank  of  the  little  tumbling  river.  It  was 
delightfully  restful,  cool  and  shadowed  by  the  over- 
hanging trees  that  nearly  met  across  it.  It  was  not 
an  easy  path,  but  it  was  calmly  beautiful  and 
remote,  and  that  was  all  he  sought. 

Just  above  one  rapid,  something  larger  than  the 
others  he  had  passed,  he  came  to  a  little  log  foot- 
bridge. It  was  a  delicious  spot,  and  he  sat  down 
and  filled  his  pipe.  The  murmur  of  the  rapids 
below  came  up  to  him  pleasantly.  All  the  foliage 
about  him  was  of  that  tender  green  inspired  by  the 
humidity  of  the  dank,  river  atmosphere.  Here  and 
there  the  sun  broke  through  in  patches  and  lit  up 
the  scene,  and  added  beauty  to  the  remoter  shad- 
ows of  the  woods.  It  was  all  so  peaceful.  Even 
the  distant  voices  of  the  children  seemed  to  add  to 
the  calm  of  his  retreat. 

His  pipe  was  nearly  finished,  and  an  insidious 
languor  was  stealing  over  him.  He  nodded  once 
or  twice,  almost  asleep.,  Then  he  started  wide 
awake;  a  familiar  laughing  voice  sounded  just 
behind  him,  calling  him  by  name. 

"  Oh,  Dave !  So  this  is  where  you  are !  I've 
been  hunting  for  you  till — till  my  feet  are  sore." 

Before  he  could  move  Betty  had  plumped  herself 
down  beside  him  on  the  bridge.  He  was  wide 
enough  awake  now,  and  his  delight  at  the  girl's 
presence  was  so  apparent  that  she  promptly  and 
frankly  remarked  upon  it. 


24  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

"  I  do  believe  you're  glad  I  came,  and — woke 
you  up,"  she  laughed. 

The  man  leant  back  luxuriously  and  propped 
himself  against  the  post  of  the  hand-rail. 

"  I  am,  surely,"  he  said  with  conviction.  "  I've 
been  thinking  about  picnics.  It  seems  to  me 
they're  a  heap  of  fun " 

"  So  you  stole  away  by  yourself  to  enjoy  this 
one." 

Betty's  brown  eyes  glanced  slyly  at  him.  There 
was  a  half  smile  in  them,  and  yet  they  were  serious. 
Dave  began  to  refill  his  pipe. 

"  Well,  Betty,  you  see  I  just  thought  I'd  like  a 
smoke.  I've  been  with  the  kiddies  all  morning." 

Suddenly  the  girl  sat  round  facing  him. 

"  Dave,  I'm  a  little  beast.  I  oughtn't  to  have 
made  you  come.  I  know  you  don't  care  for  this 
sort  of  thing,  only — well,  you  are  so  kind,  and  you 
are  so  fond  of  making  people  happy.  And  you — 
you Oh,  Dave,  I — I  want  to  tell  you  some- 
thing. That's — that's  why  I  was  hunting  for 
you." 

She  had  turned  from  him,  and  was  gazing  out 
down  the  stream  now.  Her  face  was  flushed  a 
deep  scarlet.  For  an  instant  she  had  encountered 
his  steady  gray  eyes  and  her  confusion  had  been 
complete.  She  felt  as  though  he  had  read  right 
down  into  her  very  soul. 

Dave  put  his  pipe  away.  The  serious  expression 
of  his  rugged  face  was  unchanged,  but  the  smile  in 
his  eyes  had  suddenly  become  more  pronounced. 


A  PICNIC  IN  THE  RED  SAND  VALLEY   25 

"  So  that's  why  you  hunted  me  out  ? "  he  said 
gently.  "  Well,  Betty,  you  can  tell  me." 

He  had  seen  the  blushing  face.  He  had  noted 
the  embarrassment  and  hesitancy,  and  the  final  des- 
perate plunge.  He  knew  in  his  heart  what  was 
coming,  and  the  pain  of  that  knowledge  was  so 
acute  that  he  could  almost  have  cried  out.  Yet  he 
sat  there  waiting,  his  eyes  smiling,  his  face  calmly 
grave  as  it  always  was. 

For  nearly  a  minute  neither  spoke.  Then  the 
man's  deep  voice  urged  the  girl. 

«  Well  ?  " 

Betty  rested  her  face  in  her  hands  and  propped 
her  elbows  on  her  knees.  All  her  embarrassment 
had  gone  now.  She  was  thinking,  thinking,  and 
when  at  last  her  words  came  that  tone  of  excite- 
ment which  she  had  used  just  a  moment  before  had 
quite  gone  out  of  her  voice. 

"  It's  Jim,"  she  said  quietly.  "  He's  asked  me  to 
marry  him.  I've  promised — and — and  he's  gone  to 
speak  to  uncle." 

Dave  took  out  his  pipe  again  and  looked  into 
the  bowl  of  it. 

"  I  guessed  it  was  that,"  he  said,  after  a  while. 
Then  he  fumbled  for  his  tobacco.  "  And — are  you 
happy — little  Betty  ?  "  he  asked  a  moment  later. 

«  Yes— I— I  think  so." 

"  You  think  so  ?  " 

Dave  was  astonished  out  of  himself. 

"  You  only  think  so  ? "  he  went  on,  his  breath 
coming  quickly. 


26  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

Betty  sat  quite  still  and  the  man  watched  her, 
with  his  pipe  and  tobacco  gripped  tightly  in  his 
great  hand.  He  was  struggling  with  a  mad  desire 
to  crush  this  girl  to  his  heart  and  defy  any  one  to 
take  her  from  him.  It  was  a  terrible  moment. 
But  the  wild  impulse  died  down.  He  took  a  deep 
breath  and — slowly  filled  his  pipe. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  said,  and  his  tone  was  very  tender. 

The  girl  turned  to  him.  She  rested  an  arm  on 
his  bent  knee  and  looked  up  into  his  face.  There 
was  no  longer  any  hesitation  or  doubt.  She  was 
pale  under  the  warm  tanning  of  her  cheeks,  but  she 
was  very  pretty,  and,  to  Dave,  wildly  seductive  as 
she  thus  appealed  to  him. 

"  Oh,  Dave,  I  must  tell  you  all.  You  are  my 
only  real  friend.  You,  I  know,  will  understand, 
and  can  help  me.  If  I  went  to  uncle,  good  and 
kind  as  he  is,  I  feel  he  would  not  understand.  And 
auntie,  she  is  so  matter-of-fact  and  practical.  But 
you — you  are  different  from  anybody  else." 

The  man  nodded. 

"  I  have  loved  Jim  for  so  long,"  she  went  on 
hurriedly.  "  Long — long  before  he  ever  even 
noticed  me.  To  me  he  has  always  been  every- 
thing a  man  should  and  could  be.  You  see,  he  is 
so  kind  and  thoughtful,  so  brave,  so  masterful,  so — 
so  handsome,  with  just  that  dash  of  recklessness 
which  makes  him  so  fascinating  to  a  girl.  I  have 
watched  him  pay  attention  to  other  girls,  and  night 
after  night  I  have  cried  myself  to  sleep  about  it. 
Dave,  you  have  never  known  what  it  is  to  love  any- 


A  PICNIC  IN  THE  RED  SAND  VALLEY   27 

body,  so  all  this  may  seem  silly  to  you,  but  I  only 
want  to  show  you  how  much  I  have  always  cared 
for  Jim.  Well,  after  a  long  time  he  began  to  take 
notice  of  me.  I  remember  it  so  well,"  she  went  on, 
with  a  far-away  look  in  her  eyes.  "  It  was  a  year 
ago,  at  our  Church  Social.  He  spent  a  lot  of  time 
with  me  there,  and  gave  me  a  box  of  candy,  and 
then  asked  permission  to  see  me  home.  Dave, 
from  that  moment  I  was  in  a  seventh  heaven  of 
happiness.  Every  day  I  have  felt  and  hoped  that 
he  would  ask  me  to  be  his  wife.  I  have  longed  for 
it,  prayed  for  it,  dreaded  it,  and  lived  in  a  dream  of 
happiness.  And  now  he  has  asked  me." 

She  turned  away  to  the  bustling  stream.  Her 
eyes  had  become  pathetically  sad. 

"And "  Dave  prompted  her. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know."  She  shook  her  head  a  lit- 
tle helplessly.  "  It  all  seems  different  now." 

"  Different  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that  wildly  happy  feeling  has  gone." 

"  You  are — unhappy  ?  " 

The  man's  voice  shook  as  he  put  his  question. 

"  It  isn't  that.  I'm  happy  enough,  I  suppose. 
Only — only — I  think  I'm  frightened  now,  or  some- 
thing. All  my  dreams  seem  to  have  tumbled 
about  my  ears.  I  have  no  longer  that  wonderful 
looking  forward.  Is  it  because  he  is  mine  now,  and 
no  one  can  take  him  from  me  ?  Or  is  it,"  her  voice 
dropped  to  an  awed  whisper,  "  that — I — don't " 

She  broke  off  as  though  afraid  to  say  all  she 
feared.  Dave  lit  his  pipe  and  smoked  slowly  and 


28  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

thoughtfully.  He  had  gone  through  his  ordeal 
listening  to  her,  and  now  felt  that  he  could  face 
anything  without  giving  his  own  secret  away.  He 
must  reassure  her.  He  must  remove  the  doubt  in 
her  mind,  for,  in  his  quiet,  reasoning  way,  he  told 
himself  that  all  her  future  happiness  was  at  stake. 

"  No,  it's  not  that,  Betty,"  he  said  earnestly. 
"  It's  not  that  you  love  him  less.  It's  just  that  for 
all  that  year  you've  thought  and  thought  and 
hoped  about  it — till  there's  nothing  more  to  it,"  he 
added  lamely.  "  You  see,  it's  the  same  with  all 
things.  Realization  is  nothing.  It's  all  in  the  antic- 
ipation. You  wait,  little  girl.  When  things  are 
fixed,  and  Parson  Tom  has  said  '  right/  you'll — 
why,  you'll  just  be  the  happiest  little  bit  of  a  girl  in 
Malkern.  That's  sure." 

Betty  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  ugly  face  and  looked 
straight  into  the  kindly  eyes.  Just  for  one  impul- 
sive moment  she  reached  out  and  took  hold  of  his 
knotty  hand  and  squeezed  it. 

"  Dave,  you  are  the  dearest  man  in  the  world. 
You  are  the  kindest  and  best,"  she  cried  with  un- 
usual emotion.  "  I  wonder "  and  she  turned 

away  to  hide  the  tears  that  had  suddenly  welled  up 
into  her  troubled  eyes. 

But  Dave  had  seen  them,  and  he  dared  not  trust 
himself  to  speak.  He  sat  desperately  still  and 
sucked  at  his  pipe,  emitting  great  clouds  of  smoke 
till  the  pungent  fumes  bit  his  tongue. 

Then  relief  came  from  an  unexpected  quarter. 
There  was  a  sharp  crackling  of  bush  just  above 


A  PICNIC  IN  THE  RED  SAND  VALLEY   29 

where  they  sat  and  the  scrunch  of  crushing  pine 
cones  trodden  under  foot,  and  Jim  Truscott  stepped 
on  to  the  bridge. 

"  Ah,  here  you  are  at  last.  My  word,  but  I  had 
a  job  to  find  you." 

His  tone  was  light  and  easy,  but  his  usually  smil- 
ing face  was  clouded.  Betty  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"  What  is  it,  Jim  ?  "  she  demanded,  searching  his 
face.  "  Something  is  wrong.  I  know  it  is." 

Jim  seated  himself  directly  in  front  of  Dave,  who 
now  watched  him  with  added  interest.  He  now 
noticed  several  things  in  the  boy  he  did  not  remem- 
ber having  observed  before.  The  face  in  repose,  or 
rather  without  the  smile  it  usually  wore,  bore  signs 
of  weakness  about  the  mouth.  The  whole  of  the 
lower  part  of  it  lacked  the  imprint  of  keen  decision. 
There  was  something  almost  effeminate  about  the 
mould  of  his  full  lips,  something  soft  and  yielding 
— even  vicious.  The  rest  of  his  face  was  good,  and 
even  intellectual.  He  was  particularly  handsome, 
with  crisp  curling  hair  of  a  light  brown  that  closely 
matched  his  large  expressive  eyes.  His  tall  athletic 
figure  was  strangely  at  variance  with  the  intellectual 
cast  of  his  face  and  head.  But  what  Dave  most 
noticed  were  the  distinct  lines  of  dissipation  about 
his  eyes.  And  he  wondered  how  it  was  he  had 
never  seen  them  before.  Perhaps  it  was  that  he  so 
rarely  saw  Jim  without  his  cheery  smile.  Perhaps, 
now  that  Betty  had  told  him  what  had  taken  place, 
his  observation  was  closer,  keener. 

"  What   is    it,  Jim  ? "     He   added   his   voice  'co 


30  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

Betty's  inquiry.  Jim's  face  became  gloomier.  He 
turned  to  the  girl,  who  had  resumed  her  seat  at 
Dave's  side. 

"  Have  you  told  him  ?  "  he  asked,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment his  eyes  brightened  with  a  shadow  of  their  old 
smile. 

The  girl  nodded,  and  Dave  answered  for  her. 

"  She's  told  me  enough  to  know  you're  the  luck- 
iest fellow  in  the  Red  Sand  Valley,"  he  said  kindly. 

Jim  glanced  up  into  the  girl's  face  with  all  the 
passion  of  his  youthful  heart  shining  in  his  hand- 
some eyes. 

"  Yes,  I  am,  Dave — in  that  way,"  he  said.  Then 
his  smile  faded  out  and  was  replaced  by  a  brooding 
frown.  "  But  all  the  luck  hasn't  come  my  way. 
I've  talked  to  Parson  Tom." 

"  Ah  ! "  Dave's  ejaculation  was  ominous. 

Suddenly  Jim  exploded,  half  angrily,  half  pet- 
tishly, like  a  disappointed  schoolboy. 

"  Betty,  I've  got  to  go  away.  Your  uncle  says 
so.  He  asked  me  all  about  my  mill,  what  my  prof- 
its were,  and  all  that.  I  told  him  honestly.  I 
know  I'm  not  doing  too  well.  He  said  I  wasn't 
making  enough  to  keep  a  nigger  servant  on.  He 
told  me  that  until  I  could  show  him  an  income  of 
$2,500  a  year  there  was  to  be  no  talk  of  engage- 
ment. What  is  more,  he  said  he  couldn't  have  me 
philandering  about  after  you  until  there  was  a 
reasonable  prospect  of  that  income.  We  talked  and 
argued,  but  he  was  firm.  And  in  the  end  he  ad- 
vised me,  if  I  were  really  in  earnest  and  serious,  to 


A  PICNIC  IN  THE  RED  SAND  VALLEY   31 

go  right  away,  take  what  capital  I  had,  and  select  a 
new  and  rising  country  to  start  in.  He  pointed 
out  that  there  was  not  room  enough  here  for  two  in 
the  lumbering  business ;  that  Dave,  here,  com- 
plained of  the  state  of  trade,  so  what  chance  couid  I 
possibly  have  without  a  tithe  of  his  resources. 
Finally,  he  told  me  to  go  and  think  out  a  plan,  talk 
it  over  with  you,  and  then  tell  him  what  I  had 
decided  upon.  So  here  I  am,  and " 

"  So  am  I,"  added  Betty. 

"  And  as  I  am  here  as  well,"  put  in  Dave,  "  let's 
talk  it  over  now.  Where  are  you  thinking  of 
going?" 

"  Seems  to  me  the  Yukon  is  the  place.  There's 
a  big  rush  going  on.  There's  great  talk  of  fabulous 
fortunes  there." 

"  Yes,  fabulous,"  said  Dave  dryly.  "  It's  a  long 
way.  A  big  fare.  You'll  find  yourself  amongst 
all  the  scum  and  blacklegs  of  this  continent.  You'll 
be  up  against  every  proposition  known  to  the 
crook.  You'll  get  tainted.  Why  not  do  some 
ranching  ?  Somewhere  around  here,  toward  Ed- 
monton." 

Jim  shook  his  head  gloomily. 

"  I  haven't  nearly  enough  capital." 

"  Maybe  I  could  manage  it  for  you,"  said  Dave 
thoughtfully.  «  I  mean  it  as  a  business  proposi- 
tion," he  added  hastily. 

Jim's  face  cleared,  and  his  ready  smile  broke  out 
like  sunshine  after  a  summer  storm. 

"Would    you?"   he   cried.      "Yes,   a  business 


32  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

proposition.  Business  interest.  I  know  the  very 
place,"  he  went  on  ardently.  "  Betty,  wouldn't  that 
be  bully  ?  How  would  you  like  to  be  a  rancher's 
wife  ?  " 

But  his  spirits  quickly  received  a  damper.  Betty 
shook  her  head. 

"  No,  Jim.  Not  at  Dave's  expense."  Then  she 
turned  to  the  man  who  had  made  the  offer.  "  No, 
no,  Dave,  old  friend.  Jim  and  I  know  you.  This 
is  not  business  from  your  point  of  view.  You  added 
that  to  disguise  your  kindly  intention." 

"  But "  Dave  began  to  protest. 

But  Betty  would  have  none  of  it. 

"  This  is  a  debate,"  she  said,  with  a  brightness 
she  did  not  feel,  "  and  I  am  speaking.  Jim,"  she 
turned  gently  to  her  lover,  "  we'll  start  fair  and 
square  with  the  world.  You  must  do  as  uncle  says. 
And  you  can  do  it.  Do  it  yourself — yourself  un- 
aided. God  will  help  you — surely.  You  are  clever ; 
you  have  youth,  health  and  strength.  I  will  wait 
for  you  all  my  life,  if  necessary.  You  have  my 
promise,  and  it  is  yours  until  you  come  back  to 
claim  me.  It  may  be  only  a  year  or  two.  We 
must  be  very,  very  brave.  Whatever  plan  you  de- 
cide on,  if  it  is  the  Yukon,  or  Siberia,  or  anywhere 
else,  I  am  content,  and  I  will  wait  for  you." 

The  girl's  words  were  so  gently  spoken,  yet  they 
rang  with  an  irrevocable  decision  that  astonished 
her  hearers.  Dave  looked  into  the  pretty,  set  face. 
He  had  known  her  so  long.  He  had  seen  her  in 
almost  every  mood,  yet  here  was  a  fresh  side  to  her 


A  PICNIC  IN  THE  RED  SAND  VALLEY   33 

character  he  had  never  even  suspected,  and  the 
thought  flashed  through  his  mind,  to  what  heights 
of  ambition  might  a  man  not  soar  with  such  a 
woman  at  his  side. 

Jim  looked  at  her  too.  But  his  was  a  stare  of 
amazement,  and  even  resentment. 

"  But  why,  Betty  ?  "  he  argued  sharply.  "  Why 
throw  away  a  business  offer  such  as  this,  when  it 
means  almost  certain  success  ?  Dave  offered  it  him- 
self, and  surely  you  will  allow  that  he  is  a  business 
man  before  all  things." 

41  Is  he  ?  "  Betty  smiled.  Then  she  turned  to  the 
man  who  had  made  the  offer.  "  Dave,  will  you  do 
something  for  me  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  Betty — if  it's  not  to  go  and  wash  up 
cups  down  there,"  he  replied  at  once,  with  a  grin. 

"  No,  it  isn't  to  wash  cups.  It's  " — she  glanced 
quickly  at  Jim,  who  was  watching  her  with  any- 
thing but  a  lover-like  stare — "  it's — to  withdraw  that 
offer." 

Dave  removed  his  pipe  and  turned  to  Jim. 

"  That  ranch  business  is  off,"  he  said. 

Then  he  suddenly  sat  up  and  leant  toward  the 
younger  man. 

"  Jim,  boy,  you  know  I  wish  you  well,"  he  said. 
"  I  wish  you  so  well  that  I  understand  and  appre- 
ciate Betty's  decision  now,  though  I  allow  I  didn't 
see  it  at  first.  She's  right.  Parson  Tom  is  right. 
I  was  wrong.  Get  right  out  into  the  world  and 
make  her  a  home.  Get  right  out  and  show  her,  and 
the  rest  of  us,  the  stuff  you're  made  of.  You  won't 


34  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

fail  if  you  put  your  back  into  it.  And  when  you 
come  back  it'll  be  a  great  day  for  you  both.  And 
see  here,  boy,  so  long  as  you  run  straight  you  can  ask 
me  anything  in  the  name  of  friendship,  and  I'll  not 
fail  you.  Here's  my  hand  on  it." 

Something  of  Dave's  earnestness  rather  than  the 
girl's  quiet  strength  seemed  to  suddenly  catch  hold 
of  and  lift  the  dejected  man  out  of  his  moodiness. 
His  face  cleared  and  his  sunny  smile  broke  out 
again.  He  gripped  the  great  hand,  and  enthusiasm 
rang  in  his  voice. 

"  By  God,  you're  right,  Dave,"  he  cried.  "  You're 
a  good  chap.  Yes,  I'll  go.  Betty,"  he  turned  to 
the  girl,  "  I'll  go  to  the  Yukon,  where  there's  gold 
for  the  seeking.  I'll  realize  all  the  money  I  can.  I 
won't  part  with  my  mill.  That  will  be  my  fall-back 
if  I  fail.  But  I  won't  fail.  I'll  make  money  by — 

no,  I'll  make  money.  And "  Suddenly,  at  the 

height  of  his  enthusiasm,  his  face  fell,  and  the 
buoyant  spirit  dropped  from  him. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  broke  in  Betty,  anxious  to  see  his 
mood  last. 

Jim  thought  for  a  moment  while  the  clouds  gath- 
ered on  his  face.  Then  he  looked  steadily  at  Dave. 

"  Dave,"  he  said,  and  paused.  Then  he  began 
again.  "  Dave — in  friendship's  name — I'll  ask  you 
something  now.  Betty  here,"  he  swallowed,  as 
though  what  he  had  to  say  was  very  difficult.  "  You 
see,  I  may  be  away  a  long  time,  you  can  never  tell. 
Will  you — will  you  take  care  of  her  for  me  ?  Will 
you  be  her — her  guardian,  as  you  have  always  been 


A  PICNIC  IN  THE  RED  SAND  VALLEY   35 

mine  ?  I  know  I'm  asking  a  lot,  but  somehow  I 
can't  leave  her  here,  and — I  know  there's  her  uncle 
and  aunt.  But,  I  don't  know,  somehow  I'd  like  to 
think  you  had  given  me  your  word  that  she  would 
be  all  right,  that  you  were  looking  after  her  for  me. 
Will  you?" 

His  face  and  tone  were  both  eager,  and  full  of  real 
feeling.  Dave  never  flinched  as  he  listened  to  the 
request,  yet  every  word  cut  into  his  heart,  lashed 
him  till  he  wondered  how  it  was  Jim  could  not  see 
and  understand.  He  moistened  his  lips.  He  groped 
in  his  pocket  for  his  matches  and  lit  one.  He  let 
it  burn  out,  watching  it  until  the  flame  nearly 
reached  his  fingers.  Then  he  knocked  his  pipe  out 
on  his  boot,  and  broke  it  with  the  force  he  used. 
Finally  he  looked  up  with  a  smile,  and  his  eyes  en- 
countered Betty's. 

She  smiled  back,  and  he  turned  to  her  lover,  who 
was  waiting  for  his  answer. 

"  Sure  I'll  look  after  her — for  you,"  he  said  slowly. 

Jim  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  I  can  never  thank " 

But  Dave  cut  him  short. 

"  Don't  thank  me,  boy,"  he  said,  preparing  to  re- 
turn to  the  camp.  "  Just — get  out  and  do."  And 
he  left  the  lovers  to  return  at  their  leisure. 


CHAPTER  III 

AFFAIRS  IN  MALKERN 

FOUR  glowing  summers  have  gone;  a  fifth  is 
dawning,  driving  before  its  radiant  splendor  the 
dark  shadows  and  gray  monotony  of  winter's  icy 
pall.  Malkern  is  a  busy  little  town,  spreading  out 
its  feelers  in  the  way  of  small  houses  dotted  about 
amidst  the  park  land  of  the  valley.  Every  year 
sees  a  further  and  further  extension  of  its  boarded 
sidewalks  and  grass-edged  roadways ;  every  year 
sees  its  population  steadily  increasing ;  every  year 
sees  an  advancement  in  the  architecture  of  its 
residences,  and  some  detail  displaying  additional 
prosperity  in  its  residents. 

Behind  this  steady  growth  of  prosperity  sits 
Dave,  large,  quiet,  but  irresistible.  His  is  the  guid- 
ing hand.  The  tiller  of  the  Malkern  ship  is  in  his 
grasp,  and  it  travels  the  laid  course  without  devia- 
tion whatsoever.  The  harbor  lies  ahead,  and, 
come  storm  or  calm,  he  drives  steadily  on  for  its 
haven. 

Thus  far  has  the  man  been  content.  Thus  far 
have  his  ambitions  been  satisfied.  He  has  striven, 
and  gained  his  way  inch  by  inch  ;  but  with  that 
striving  has  grown  up  in  him  a  desire  such  as 
inevitably  comes  to  the  strong  and  capable  worker. 
A  steady  success  creates  a  desire  to  achieve  a 


AFFAIRS  IN  MALKERN  37 

master-stroke,  whereby  the  fruit  which  hitherto  he 
has  been  content  to  pluck  singly  falls  in  a  mass  into 
his  lap.  And  therein  lies  the  human  nature  which 
so  often  upsets  the  carefully  trained  and  drilled 
method  of  the  finest  tempered  brain. 

Dave  saw  his  goal  looming.  He  saw  clearly  that 
all  that  he  had  worked  for,  hoped  for,  could  be 
gained  at  one  stroke.  That  one  stroke  meant 
capturing  the  great  government  contract  for  the 
lumber  required  for  building  the  new  naval  docks. 
It  was  a  contract  involving  millions  of  dollars,  and, 
with  all  the  courage  with  which  his  spirit  was 
laden,  he  meant  to  attempt  the  capture.  His  plans 
had  been  silently  laid.  No  detail  had  been  forgot- 
ten, no  pains  spared.  Night  and  day  his  thoughtful 
brain  had  worked  upon  his  scheme,  and  now  had 
come  that  time  when  he  must  sit  back  and  wait  for 
the  great  moment.  Nor  did  this  great  moment  de- 
pend on  him,  and  therein  lay  the  uncertainty,  the 
gamble  so  dear  to  the  human  heart. 

His  scheme  had  been  confided  to  only  three  peo- 
ple, and  these  were  with  him  now,  sitting  on  the 
veranda  of  the  Rev.  Tom  Chepstow's  house.  The 
house  stood  on  a  slightly  rising  ground  facing  out 
to  the  east,  whence  a  perfect  view  of  the  wide- 
spreading  valley  was  obtained.  It  was  a  modest 
enough  place,  but  trim  and  carefully  kept.  Parson 
Tom's  stipend  was  so  limited  and  uncertain  that 
luxury  was  quite  impossible  ;  a  rigid  frugality  was 
the  ruling  in  his  small  household. 

It  was  Saturday.     The  day's  work  was  over,  and 


38  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

the  family  were  watching  the  sunset  and  awaiting 
the  hour  for  supper.  The  parson  was  luxuriating  in 
a  pipe  in  a  well-worn  deck-chair  at  one  extremity  of 
the  deep,  wild-cucumber-covered  veranda.  Dave 
sat  near  him ;  Mary  Chepstow,  the  parson's  wife, 
was  crocheting  a  baby's  woolen  jacket,  stoutly 
comfortable  in  a  leather  armchair ;  while  Betty,  a 
little  more  mature  in  figure,  a  little  quieter  in  man- 
ner, but  even  prettier  and  more  charming  to  look  at 
than  she  was  on  the  day  of  her  picnic  nearly  five 
years  ago,  occupied  a  seat  near  the  open  French 
window,  ready  to  attend  at  a  moment's  notice  to  the 
preparing  of  supper. 

Betty  had  been  silent  for  quite  a  while.  She  was 
staring  with  introspective  gaze  out  in  the  direction 
of  the  railroad  depot.  The  two  men  had  been  dis- 
cussing the  best  means  of  raising  the  funds  for  the 
building  of  a  new  church,  aided  by  a  few  impracti- 
cable suggestions  from  Mrs.  Chepstow,  who  had  a 
way  of  counting  her  stitches  aloud  in  the  midst  of 
her  remarks.  Suddenly  Betty  turned  to  her  uncle, 
whose  lean,  angular  frame  was  grotesquely  hunched 
up  in  his  deck-chair. 

"  Will  old  Mudley  bring  the  mail  over  if  the  train 
does  come  in  this  evening?  "  she  inquired  abruptly. 

The  parson  shook  his  head.  His  lean,  clean- 
shaven face  lit  with  a  quizzical  smile  as  he  glanced 
over  at  his  niece. 

"  Why  should  he  ?  "  he  replied.  "  He  never  does 
bring  mail  round.  Are  you  expecting  a  letter — 
from  him  ?  " 


AFFAIRS  IN  MALKERN  39 

There  was  no  self-consciousness  in  the  girl's  man- 
ner as  she  replied.  There  was  not  even  warmth. 

"  Oh,  no;  I  was  wondering  if  I  should  get  one 
from  Maud  Hardwig.  She  promised  to  write  me 
how  Lily's  wedding  went  off  in  Regina.  It  is  a 
nuisance  about  the  strike.  But  it's  only  the  plate- 
layers, isn't  it ;  and  it  only  affects  the  section  where 
they  are  constructing  east  of  Winnipeg  ?  " 

Her  uncle  removed  his  pipe. 

"  Yes.  But  it  affects  indirectly  the  whole  system. 
You  see,  they  won't  put  on  local  mails  from  Regina. 
They  wait  for  the  eastern  mail  to  come  through. 
By  the  way,  how  long  is  it  since  you  heard  from 
Jim?" 

Betty  had  turned  away  and  was  watching  the 
vanishing  point  of  the  railway  track,  where  it 
entered  the  valley  a  couple  of  miles  away.  Dave's 
steady  eyes  turned  upon  her.  But  she  didn't 
answer  at  once,  and  her  uncle  had  to  call  her  atten- 
tion. 

«  Betty  !  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  sorry,  uncle,"  she  replied  at  once.  "  I 
was  dreaming.  When  did  I  hear  ?  Oh,  nearly  nine 
months  ago." 

Mary  Chepstow  looked  up  with  a  start. 

"  Nine  months  ?  Gracious,  child — there,  I've 
done  it  wrong." 

Bending  over  her  work  she  withdrew  her  hook 
and  started  to  unravel  the  chain  she  was  making. 

"  Yes,"  Betty  went  on  coldly.  «  Nine  montns 
since  I  had  a  letter.  But  I've  heard  indirectly." 


40  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

Her  uncle  sat  up. 

"  You  never  told  me,"  he  said  uneasily. 

The  girl's  indifference  was  not  without  its  effect 
on  him.  She  never  talked  of  Jim  Truscott  now. 
And  somehow  the  subject  was  rarely  broached  by 
any  of  them.  Truscott  had  nominally  gone  away 
for  two  or  three  years,  but  they  were  already  in  the 
fifth  year  since  his  departure,  and  there  was  as 
yet  no  word  of  his  returning.  Secretly  her  uncle 
was  rather  pleased  at  her  silence  on  the  subject. 
He  augured  well  from  it.  He  did  not  think  there 
was  to  be  any  heart-breaking  over  the  matter.  He 
had  never  sanctioned  any  engagement  between 
them,  but  he  had  been  prepared  to  do  so  if  the  boy 
turned  up  under  satisfactory  conditions.  Now  he 
felt  that  it  was  time  to  take  action  in  the  matter. 
Betty  was  nearly  twenty-seven,  and — well,  he  did 
not  want  her  to  spend  her  life  waiting  for  a  man 
who  showed  no  sign  of  returning. 

"  I  didn't  see  the  necessity,"  she  said  quietly.  "  I 
heard  of  him  through  Dave." 

The  parson  swung  round  on  the  master  of  the 
mills.  His  keen  face  was  alert  with  the  deepest  in- 
terest. 

"  You,  Dave  ?  "  he  exclaimed. 

The  lumberman  stirred  uneasily,  and  Mary  Chep- 
stow  let  her  work  lie  idle  in  her  lap. 

"  Dawson — my  foreman,  you  know — got  a  letter 
from  Mansell.  You  remember  Mansell  ?  He  acted 
as  Jim's  foreman  at  his  mill.  A  fine  sawyer,  Man- 
sell " 


AFFAIRS  IN  MALKERN  41 

"  Yes,  yes."  Parson  Tom's  interest  made  him 
impatient. 

"  Well,  you  remember  that  Mansell  went  with 
Jim  when  he  set  out  for  the  Yukon.  They  in- 
tended to  try  their  luck  together.  Partners,  of 
course.  Well,  Mansell  wrote  Dawson  he  was  sick 
to  death  of  worrying  things  out  up  there.  He  said 
he'd  left  Jim,  but  did  not  state  why.  He  asked 
him  if  my  mill  was  going  strong,  and  would  there 
be  a  job  for  him  if  he  came  back.  He  said  that 
Jim  was  making  money  now.  He  had  joined  a 
man  named  Broncho  Bill,  a  pretty  hard  citizen,  and 
in  consequence  he  was  doing  better.  How  he  was 
making  money  he  didn't  say.  But  he  finished  up 
his  remarks  about  the  boy  by  saying  he'd  leave  him 
to  tell  his  own  story,  as  he  had  no  desire  to  put  any 
one  away." 

Mrs.  Chepstow  offered  no  comment,  but  silently 
picked  up  her  work  and  went  on  with  it.  Her  hus- 
band sat  back  in  his  chair,  stretching  his  long  mus- 
cular legs,  and  folding  his  hands  behind  his  head. 
Betty  displayed  not  the  least  interest  in  Dave's 
haltingly  told  story. 

The  silence  on  the  veranda  was  ominous.  Chep- 
stow began  to  refill  his  pipe,  furtively  watching  his 
niece's  pretty  profile  as  she  sat  looking  down  the 
valley.  It  was  his  wife  who  broke  the  oppressive 
silence. 

"  I  can't  believe  badly — three  treble  in  the  adja- 
cent hole  " — she  muttered,  referring  to  her  pattern 
book,  "  of  him.  I  always  liked  him — five  chain." 


42  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

"  So  do  I,"  put  in  Dave  with  emphasis. 

Betty  glanced  quickly  into  his  rugged  face. 

"  You  don't  believe  the  insinuations  of  that  let- 
ter ?  "  she  asked  him  sharply. 

"  I  don't." 

Dave's  reply  was  emphatic.  Betty  smiled  over 
at  him.  Then  she  jumped  up  from  her  seat  and 
pointed  down  the  track. 

"  There's  the  mail,"  she  cried.  Then  she  came 
to  her  aunt's  side  and  laid  a  hand  coaxingly  on  her 
shoulder.  "  Will  you  see  to  supper,  dear,  if  I  go 
down  for  the  mail  ?  " 

Mrs.  Chepstow  would  not  trust  herself  to  speak, 
she  was  in  the  midst  of  a  complicated  manipulation 
of  the  pattern  she  was  working,  so  she  contented 
herself  with  a  nod,  and  Betty  was  off  like  the  wind. 
The  two  men  watched  her  as  she  sped  down  the 
hard  red  sand  trail,  and  neither  spoke  until  a  bend 
in  the  road  hid  her  from  view. 

"  She's  too  good  a  girl,  Dave,"  Chepstow  said 
with  almost  militant  warmth.  "  She's  not  going  to 
be  made  a  fool  of  by — by " 

"  She  won't  be  made  a  fool  of  by  any  one," 
Dave  broke  in  with  equal  warmth.  "  There's  no 
fear  of  it,  if  I'm  any  judge,"  he  added.  "  I  don't 
think  you  realize  that  girl's  spirit,  Tom.  Here,  I'll 
tell  you  something  I've  never  told  anybody.  When 
Jim  went  away  Betty  came  to  me  and  asked  me  to 
let  her  study  my  mills.  She  wanted  to  learn  all  the 
business  of  'em.  All  the  inside  of  the  management 
of  'em.  If  I'd  have  let  her  she'd  have  learnt  how 


AFFAIRS  IN  MALKERN  43 

to  run  the  saws.  And  do  you  know  why  she  did 
it?  I'll  tell  you.  Because  she  thought  Jim  might 
come  back  broke.and  he  and  she  together  could  start 
up  his  old  mill  again,  so  as  to  win  through.  That's 
Betty.  Can  you  beat  it  ?  That  girl  has  made  up 
her  mind  to  a  certain  line  of  action,  and  she'll  see 
it  through,  no  matter  what  her  feelings  may  be. 
No  word  of  yours,  or  mine,  will  turn  her  from  her 
purpose.  She'll  wait  for  Jim." 

"  Yes,  and  waste  the  best  of  her  life,"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Chepstow.  "  One,  two,  three — turn." 

Dave  smiled  over  at  the  rotund  figure  crocheting 
so  assiduously.  Although  Mary  Chepstow  was 
over  forty  her  face  still  retained  its  youthful  pretti- 
ness.  The  parson  laughed.  He  generally  laughed 
at  his  wife's  views  upon  anything  outside  of  her 
small  household  and  the  care  of  the  sick  villagers. 
But  it  was  never  an  unkind  laugh.  Just  a  large, 
tolerant  good-nature,  a  pronounced  feature  in  his 
character.  Parson  Tom,  like  many  kindly  men, 
was  hasty  of  temper,  even  fiery,  and  being  a  man  of 
considerable  athletic  powers,  this  characteristic  had, 
on  more  than  one  occasion,  forcibly  brought  some 
recalcitrant  member  of  his  uncertain-tempered  flock 
to  book,  and  incidentally  acquired  for  him  the  sobri- 
quet of  "  the  fighting  parson." 

"  I  don't  know  about  wasting  the  best  of  her 
life,"  he  said.  "  Betty  has  never  wasted  her  life. 
Look  at  the  school  she's  got  now.  And,  mark  you, 
she's  done  it  all  herself.  She  has  three  teachers 
under  her.  She  has  negotiated  all  the  finance  of 


44  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

the  school  herself.  She  got  the  government  by  the 
coat-tails  and  dragged  national  support  out  of  it. 
Why,  she's  a  wonder.  No,  no,  not  waste,  Mary. 
Let  her  wait  if  she  chooses.  We  won't  interfere. 
I  only  hope  that  when  Jim  does  come  back  he'll  be 
a  decent  citizen.  If  he  isn't,  I'd  bet  my  last  cent 
Betty  will  know  how  to  deal  with  him." 

"  She'll  sure  give  him  up,  if  he  isn't,"  said  Dave 
with  conviction. 

Mary  looked  up,  her  round  blue  eyes  twink- 
ling. 

"  Dave  knows  Betty  better  than  we  do,  Tom.  I'd 

almost  think I'm  not  sure  I  like  this  shade  of 

pink,"  she  digressed,  examining  her  wool  closely. 
"  Er — what  was  I  saying  ?  Oh,  yes — I'd  almost 
think  he'd  made  a  special  study  of  her." 

A  deep  flush  spread  slowly  over  Dave's  ugly  face, 
and  he  tried  to  hide  it  by  bending  over  his  pipe  and 
examining  the  inside  of  the  bowl. 

Parson  Tom  promptly  changed  the  subject.  He 
shook  his  head  and  turned  away  to  watch  the  ruddy 
extravagance  of  the  sunset  in  the  valley. 

"  Dave  has  got  far  too  much  to  think  of  in  his 
coming  government  contract  to  bother  with  a  girl 
like  Betty.  By  the  way,  when  do  you  expect  to 
hear  the  result  of  your  tender,  Dave  ?  " 

"  Any  time." 

The  lumberman's  embarrassment  had  vanished  at 
the  mention  of  his  contract.  His  eyes  lit,  and  the 
whole  of  his  plain  features  were  suddenly  illumined. 
This  was  his  life's  purpose.  This  contract  meant 


AFFAIRS  IN  MALKERN  45 

everything  to  him.  All  that  had  gone  before,  all 
his  labor,  his  early  struggles,  they  were  nothing  to 
the  store  he  set  by  this  one  great  scheme. 

"  Good.  And  your  chances  ?  "  There  was  the 
keenest  interest  in  the  parson's  question. 

"  Well,  I'd  say  they're  good.  You  see,  that  find 
of  ours  up  in  the  hills  opens  a  possibility  we  never 
had  before.  The  new  docks  require  an  enormous 
supply  of  ninety-foot  timber.  It's  got  to  be  ninety- 
foot  stuff.  Well,  we've  got  the  timber  in  that  new 
find.  There's  a  valley  of  some  thousands  of  acres 
of  forest  which  will  supply  it.  Tom,"  he  went  on 
eagerly,  "  we  could  cut  'em  hundred-and-twenty- 
foot  logs  from  that  forest  till  the  cows  come  home. 
It's  the  greatest  proposition  in  lumbering.  It's  one 
of  the  greatest  of  those  great  primordial  pine  for- 
ests which  are  to  be  found  in  the  Rockies,  if  one  is 
lucky  enough.  At  present  we  are  the  only  people 
in  Canada  who  can  give  them  the  stuff  they  need, 
and  enough  of  it.  Yes,  I  think  I'll  get  it.  I've  set 
the  wires  pulling  all  I  know.  I've  cut  the  price. 
I've  done  everything  I  can,  and  I  think  I'll  get  it. 
If  I  do  I'll  be  a  millionaire  half  a  dozen  times  over, 
and  Malkern,  and  all  its  people,  will  rise  to  an  im- 
mense prosperity.  I  must  get  it !  And  having  got 
it,  I  must  push  it  through  successfully." 

Mary  and  her  husband  were  hanging  on  the  lum- 
berman's words,  carried  away  by  his  enthusiasm. 
There  was  that  light  of  battle  in  his  eyes,  the  firm 
setting  of  his  heavy  under-jaw,  which  they  knew 
and  understood  so  well.  To  them  he  was  the  per- 


46  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

sonification  of  resolution.  To  them  his  personality 
was  irresistible. 

"  Of  course  you'll  push  it  through  successfully," 
Tom  nodded. 

"  Yes,  yes.  I  shall.  I  must,"  Dave  said,  stirring 
his  great  body  in  his  chair  with  a  restlessness  which 
spoke  of  his  nervous  tension.  "  But  it's  this  time 
limit.  You  see,  it's  a  government  contract.  They 
want  these  naval  docks  built  quickly.  The  whole 
scheme  is  to  be  rushed  through.  Since  the  Im- 
perial Conference  has  decided  that  each  colony  is  to 
build  its  own  share  of  the  navy  for  imperial  defense, 
in  view  of  the  European  situation,  that  building  is 
to  be  begun  at  once.  They  are  laying  down  five 
ships  this  year,  and,  by  the  end  of  the  year,  they 
are  to  have  docks  ready  for  the  laying  down  of  six 
more.  My  contract  is  for  the  lumber  for  those 
docks.  You  see  ?  My  contract  must  be  completed 
before  winter  closes  down,  without  fail.  I  have 
guaranteed  that.  Well,  as  I  am  the  only  lumber- 
man in  Canada  that  can  supply  this  heavy  lumber, 
if  they  do  not  give  it  to  me  they  will  have  to  go  to 
the  States  for  it.  Yes,"  he  added,  with  something 
like  a  sigh,  "  I  think  I  shall  get  it.  But — this  time 
limit !  If  I  fail  it  will  break  me,  and,  in  the  crash, 
Malkern  will  go  too." 

Mary  Chepstow  sighed  with  emotion.  Her  cro- 
chet was  forgotten. 

"  You  won't  fail,"  she  murmured,  her  eyes  glis- 
tening. "  You  can't !  " 

"  Malkern    isn't    going    to    tumble    about    our 


AFFAIRS  IN  MALKERN  47 

ears,  old  friend,"  Parson  Tom  said  with  quiet  as- 
surance. 

Dave  had  fallen  back  into  his  lounging  attitude 
and  puffed  at  his  pipe. 

"  No,"  he  said.  Then  he  pointed  down  the  trail 
in  the  direction  of  the  depot  "  There's  Betty  com- 
ing along  in  a  hurry  with  Jenkins  Mudley." 

All  eyes  turned  to  look.  Betty  was  almost  run- 
ning beside  the  tall  thin  figure  of  the  operator  and 
postmaster  of  Malkern.  They  came  up  with  a  final 
rush,  the  man  flourishing  a  telegram  at  Dave. 
Betty  was  carrying  a  number  of  letters. 

"  I  just  thought  I'd  bring  this  along  myself," 
Mudley  grinned.  "Everything's  been  delayed 
through  the  strike  down  east.  This,  too.  Felt  I'd 
hate  to  let  any  one  else  hand  it  to  you,  Dave." 

Dave  snatched  at  the  tinted  envelope  and  tore  it 
open,  while  Betty,  nodding  at  her  uncle  and  aunt, 
her  eyes  dancing  with  delight,  made  frantic  signs  to 
them.  But  they  took  no  notice  of  her,  keeping 
their  eyes  fixed  on  the  towering  form  of  the  mas- 
ter of  the  mills.  Dave  was  the  calmest  man  present. 
He  read  the  message  over  twice,  and  then  deliber- 
ately thrust  it  into  his  pocket.  Then,  as  he  returned 
to  his  seat,  he  said  — 

"  I've  got  my  contract,  folks." 

"  Hurrah !  "  cried  Betty,  no  longer  able  to  con- 
trol herself.  The  operator  had  previously  imparted 
the  fact  to  her.  Then,  with  a  jump,  she  was  on  the 
veranda  and  flung  some  letters  into  her  uncle's  lap, 
retaining  one  for  herself  that  had  already  been  read. 


48  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

The  next  moment  she  had  seized  both  of  Dave's 
great  hands,  and  was  wringing  them  with  all  her 
heart  and  soul  shining  in  her  eyes. 

"  I'm, so — so  glad,  I  don't  know  what  I'm  doing 
or  saying,"  she  cried,  and  then  collapsed  on  her 
uncle's  knee. 

Dave  laughed  quietly,  but  her  aunt,  her  face  be- 
lying her  words,  reproved  her  gently. 

"  Betty,"  she  said  warningly  as  the  girl  scrambled 
to  her  feet,  "  don't  get  excited.  I  think  you'id 
better  go  and  see  to  supper.  I  see  you  got  your 
letter.  How  did  the  wedding  go  off?  " 

Betty  was  leaning  against  one  of  the  veranda 
posts. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  said  indifferently.  "  I'd  forgotten 
my  letter.  It's  from  Jim.  He's  coming  home." 

Her  aunt  suddenly  picked  up  her  work.  The 
parson  began  to  open  his  letters.  Dave's  eyes, 
until  that  moment  smiling,  suddenly  became  serious. 
The  girl's  news  had  a  strangely  damping  effect. 
Dave  cleared  his  throat  as  though  about  to  speak. 
But  he  remained  silent. 

Then  Betty  moved  across  to  the  door. 

"  I'll  go  and  get  supper,"  she  said  quietly,  and 
vanished  into  the  house. 


CHAPTER  IV 

DICK  MANSELL'S  NEWS 

FOR  Dave  the  next  fortnight  was  fraught  with  a 
tremendous  pressure  of  work.  But  arduous  and 
wearing  as  it  was,  to  him  there  was  that  thrill  of 
conscious  striving  which  is  the  very  essence  of  life 
to  the  ambition-inspired  man.  His  goal  loomed 
dimly  upon  his  horizon,  he  could  see  it  in  shadowy 
outline,  and  every  step  he  took  now,  every  effort  he 
put  forth,  he  knew  was  carrying  him  on,  drawing 
him  nearer  and  nearer  to  it.  He  worked  with  that 
steady  enthusiasm  which  never  rushes.  He  was 
calm  and  purposeful.  To  hasten,  to  diverge  from 
his  deliberate  course  in  the  heat  of  excitement,  he 
knew  would  only  weaken  his  effort.  Careful  or- 
ganization, perfect,  machine-like,  was  what  he 
needed,  and  the  work  would  do  itself. 

At  the  mills  a  large  extension  of  the  milling 
floors  and  an  added  number  of  saws  were  needed. 
In  its  present  state  the  milling  floor  could  hardly 
accommodate  the  ninety-foot  logs  demanded  by  the 
contract.  This  was  a  structural  alteration  that 
must  be  carried  out  at  express  speed,  and  had  been 
prepared  for,  so  that  it  was  only  a  matter  of  execut- 
ing plans  already  drawn  up.  Joel  Dawson,  the 
foreman,  one  of  the  best  lumbermen  in  the  country, 


50  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

was  responsible  for  the  alterations.  Simon  Odd, 
the  master  sawyer,  had  the  organizing  of  the  skilled 
labor  staff  inside  the  mill,  a  work  of  much  responsi- 
bility and  considerable  discrimination. 

But  with  Dave  rested  the  whole  responsibility 
and  chief  organization.  It  was  necessary  to  secure 
labor  for  both  the  mill  and  the  camps  up  in  the 
hills.  And  for  this  the  district  had  to  be  scoured, 
while  two  hundred  lumber-jacks  had  to  be  brought 
up  from  the  forests  of  the  Ottawa  River. 

Dave  and  his  lieutenants  worked  all  their  day- 
light hours,  and  most  of  the  night  was  spent  in  har- 
ness. They  ate  to  live  only,  and  slept  only  when 
their  falling  eyelids  refused  to  keep  open. 

Only  Dave  and  his  two  loyal  supporters  knew 
the  work  of  that  fortnight ;  only  they  understood 
the  anxiety  and  strain,  but  their  efforts  were 
crowned  with  success,  and  at  the  end  of  that  time 
the  first  of  the  "  ninety-footers  "  floated  down  the 
river  to  the  mouth  of  the  great  boom  that  lay 
directly  under  the  cranes  of  the  milling  floor. 

It  was  not  until  that  moment  that  Dave  felt  free 
to  look  about  him,  to  turn  his  attention  from  the 
grindstone  of  his  labors.  It  was  midday  when 
word  passed  of  the  arrival  of  the  first  of  the  timber, 
and  he  went  at  once  to  verify  the  matter  for  him- 
self. It  was  a  sight  to  do  his  heart  good.  The 
boom,  stretching  right  into  the  heart  of  the  mills, 
was  a  mass  of  rolling,  piling  logs,  and  a  small  army 
of  men  was  at  work  upon  them  piloting  them  so  as 
to  avoid  a  "  crush."  It  was  perilous,  skilful  works 


DICK  MANSELL'S  NEWS  51 

and  the  master  of  the  mills  watched  with  approval 
the  splendid  efforts  of  these  intrepid  lumber-jacks. 
He  only  waited  until  the  rattling  chains  of  the 
cranes  were  lowered  and  the  first  log  was  grappled 
and  lifted  like  a  match  out  of  the  water,  and  hauled 
up  to  the  milling  floor.  Then,  with  a  sigh  as  of  a 
man  relieved  of  a  great  strain,  he  turned  away  and 
passed  out  of  his  yards. 

It  was  the  first  day  for  a  fortnight  he  had  gone  to 
his  house  for  dinner. 

His  home  was  a  small  house  of  weather-boarding 
with  a  veranda  all  creeper-grown,  as  were  most  of 
the  houses  in  the  village.  It  had  only  one  story, 
and  every  window  had  a  window-box  full  of  simple 
flowers.  It  stood  in  a  patch  of  garden  that  was 
chiefly  given  up  to  vegetables,  with  just  a  small 
lawn  of  mean-looking  turf  with  a  centre  bed  of 
flowers.  Along  the  top-railed  fence  which  en- 
closed it  were,  set  at  regular  intervals,  a  number  of 
small  blue-gum  and  spruce  trees.  It  was  just  such 
an  abode  as  one  might  expect  Dave  to  possess  : 
simple,  useful,  unpretentious.  It  was  the  house  of 
a  man  who  cared  nothing  for  luxury.  Utility  was 
the  key-note  of  his  life.  And  the  little  trivial  dec- 
orations in  the  way  of  creepers,  flowers,  and  such 
small  luxuries  were  due  to  the  gentle,  womanly 
thought  of  his  old  mother,  with  whom  he  lived,  and 
who  permitted  no  one  else  to  minister  to  his  wants. 

She  was  in  the  doorway  when  he  came  up,  a 
small  thin  figure  with  shriveled  face  and  keen, 
questioning  eyes.  She  was  clad  in  black,  and  wore 


52  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

a  print  overall.  Her  snow-white  hair  was  parted  in 
the  middle  and  smoothed  down  flat,  in  the  method 
of  a  previous  generation.  She  was  an  alert  little 
figure  for  all  her  sixty  odd  years. 

The  questioning  eyes  changed  to  a  look  of  glad- 
ness as  the  burly  figure  of  her  son  turned  in  at  the 
gate.  There  could  be  no  doubt  as  to  her  feelings. 
Dave  was  all  the  world  to  her.  Her  admiration  for 
her  son  amounted  almost  to  idolatry. 

"  Dinner's  ready,"  she  said  eagerly.  «  I  thought 
I'd  just  see  if  you  were  coming.  I  didn't  expect 
you.  Have  you  time  for  it,  Dave  ?  " 

"  Sure,  ma,"  he  responded,  stooping  and  kissing 
her  upturned  face.  "  The  logs  are  down." 

"  Dear  boy,  I'm  glad." 

It  was  all  she  said,  but  her  tone,  and  the  look 
she  gave  him,  said  far  more  than  the  mere  words. 

Dave  placed  one  great  arm  gently  about  her 
narrow  shoulders  and  led  her  into  the  house. 

"  I'm  going  to  take  an  hour  for  dinner  to-day 
sure,"  he  said,  with  unusual  gaiety.  "  Just  to 
celebrate.  After  this,"  he  went  on,  "  for  six 
months  I'm  going  to  do  work  that'll  astonish  even 
you,  ma." 

"  But  you  won't  overdo  it,  Dave,  will  you  ? 
The  money  isn't  worth  it.  It  isn't  really.  I've 
lived  a  happy  life  without  much  of  it,  boy,  and  I 
don't  want  much  now.  I  only  want  my  boy." 

There  was  a  world  of  gentle  solicitude  in  the  old 
woman's  tones.  So  much  that  Dave  smiled  upon 
her  as  he  took  his  place  at  the  table. 


DICK  MANSELL'S  NEWS  53 

"  You'll  have  both,  ma,  just  as  sure  as  sure.  I'm 
not  only  working  for  the  sake  of  the  money. 
Sounds  funny  to  say  that  when  I'm  working  to 
make  myself  a  millionaire.  But  it's  not  the  money. 
It's  success  first.  I  don't  like  being  beaten,  and 
that's  a  fact.  We  Americans  hate  being  beaten. 
Then  there's  other  things.  Think  of  these  people 
here.  They'll  do  well.  Malkern'll  be  a  city  to  be 
reckoned  with,  and  a  prosperous  one.  Then  the 
money's  useful  to  do  something  with.  We  can 
help  others.  You  know,  ma,  how  we've  talked  it 
all  out." 

The  mother  helped  her  son  to  food. 

"  Yes,  I  know.  But  your  health,  boy,  you  must 
think  of  that." 

Dave  laughed  boisterously,  an  unusual  thing  with 
him.  But  his  mood  was  light.  He  felt  that  he 
wanted  to  laugh  at  anything.  What  did  anything 
matter  ?  By  this  time  a  dozen  or  so  of  the  "  ninety- 
footers  "  were  already  in  the  process  of  mutilation 
by  his  voracious  saws. 

"Health,  ma?"  he  cried.  "Look  at  me.  I 
don't  guess  I'm  pretty,  but  I  can  do  the  work  of 
any  French-Canadian  horse  in  my  yards." 

The  old  woman  shook  her  silvery  head  doubt- 
fully. 

"  Well,  well,  you  know  best,"  she  said,  "  only  I 
don't  want  you  to  get  ill." 

Dave  laughed  again.  Then  happening  to  glance 
out  of  the  window  he  saw  the  figure  of  Joe  Hardwig, 
the  blacksmith,  turning  in  at  the  gate. 


54  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

"  Another  plate,  ma,"  he  said  hastily.  "  There's 
Hardwig  coming  along." 

His  mother  summoned  her  "  hired  "  girl,  and  by 
the  time  Hardwig's  knock  came  at  the  door  a  place 
was  set  for  him.  Dave  rose  from  the  table. 

"  Come  right  in,  Joe,"  he  said  cheerily.  "  We're 
just  having  grub.  Ma's  got  some  bully  stew.  Sit 
down  and  join  us." 

But  Joe  Hardwig  declined,  with  many  protesta- 
tions. He  was  a  broad,  squat  little  man,  whose 
trade  was  in  his  very  manner,  in  the  strength  of  his 
face,  and  in  the  masses  of  muscle  which  his  clothes 
could  not  conceal. 

"  The  missus  is  wantin'  me,"  he  said.  <"  Thank 
you  kindly  all  the  same.  Your  servant,  mam,"  he 
added  awkwardly,  turning  to  Dave's  mother.  Then 
to  the  lumberman,  "  I  jest  come  along  to  hand  you 
a  bit  of  information  I  guessed  you'd  be  real  glad  of. 
Mansell — Dick  Mansell's  got  back !  I've  been 
yarnin'  with  him.  Say,  guess  you'll  likely  need 
him.  He's  wantin'  a  job  too.  He's  a  bully 
sawyer." 

Dave  had  suddenly  become  serious. 

"  Dick  Mansell !  "  he  cried.  Then,  after  a  pause, 
"  Has  he  brought  word  of  Jim  Truscott  ?  " 

The  mother's  eyes  were  on  her  son,  shrewdly 
speculating.  She  had  seen  his  sudden  gravity. 
She  knew  full  well  that  he  cared  less  for  Mansell's 
powers  as  a  sawyer  than  for  Mansell  as  the  com- 
panion and  sharer  of  Jim  Truscott's  exile.  Now 
she  waited  for  the  blacksmith's  answer. 


DICK  MANSELL'S  NEWS  55 

Joe  shifted  uneasily.  His  great  honest  face 
looked  troubled.  He  had  not  come  there  to  spill 
dirty  water.  He  knew  how  much  Dave  wanted 
skilled  hands,  and  he  knew  that  Dick  needed  work. 

"  Why,  yes,"  he  said  at  last.  "  At  least — that 
is " 

"  Out  with  it,  man,"  cried  Dave,  with  unusual 
impatience.  "  How  is  Jim,  and — how  has  he 
done  ?  " 

Just  for  an  instant  Joe  let  an  appealing  glance 
fall  in  the  old  woman's  direction,  but  he  got  no 
encouragement  from  her.  She  was  steadily  pro- 
ceeding with  her  dinner.  Besides,  she  never  inter- 
fered with  her  boy.  Whatever  he  did  was  always 
right  to  her. 

"  Well  ?  "     Dave  urged  the  hesitating  man. 

"  Oh,  I  guess  he's  all  right.  That  is — he  ain't 
hard  up.  Why  yes,  he  was  speakin"  of  him,"  Joe 
stumbled  on.  "  He  guessed  he  was  comin'  along 
down  here  later.  That  is,  Jim  is — you  see " 

But  Dave  hated  prevarication.  He  could  see 
that  Joe  didn't  want  to  tell  what  he  had  heard. 
However  he  held  him  to  it  fast. 

"  Has  Jim  been  running  straight  ?  "  he  demanded 
sharply. 

"  Oh,  as  to  that — I  guess  so,"  said  Joe  awkwardly. 

Dave  came  over  to  where  Joe  was  still  standing, 
and  laid  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  See  here,  Joe,  we  all  know  you  ;  you're  a  good 
sportsman,  and  you  don't  go  around  giving  folks 
away — and  bully  for  you.  But  I'd  rather  you  told 


56  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

me  what  Mansell's  told  you  than  that  he  should  tell 
me.  See  ?  It  won't  be  peaching.  I've  got  to  hear 
it." 

Joe  looked  straight  up  into  his  face,  and  suddenly 
his  eyes  lit  angrily  at  his  own  thought.  "  Yes, 
you'd  best  have  it,"  he  exclaimed,  all  his  hesitation 
gone ;  "  that  dogone  boy's  been  runnin'  a  wild  racket. 
He's  laid  hold  of  the  booze  and  he's  never  done  a 
straight  day's  work  since  he  hit  the  Yukon  trail. 
He's  comin'  back  to  here  with  a  gambler's  wad  in 
his  pocketbook,  and — and — he's  dead  crooked. 
Leastways,  that's  how  Mansell  says.  It's  bin 
roulette,  poker  an'  faro.  An'  he's  bin  runnin'  the 
joint.  Mansell  says  he  ain't  no  sort  o'  use  for  him 
no  ways,  and  that  he  cut  adrift  from  the  boy  directly 
he  got  crooked." 

"  Oh,  he  did,  did  he  ?  "  said  Dave,  after  a  thought- 
ful  pause.  "  I  don't  seem  to  remember  that  Dick 
Mansell  was  any  saint.  I'd  have  thought  a  crooked 
life  would  have  fallen  in  with  his  views,  but  he  pre- 
ferred to  turn  the  lad  adrift  when  he  most  needed 
help.  However,  it  don't  signify.  So  the  lad's 
coming  back  a  drunkard,  a  gambler  and  a  crook  ? 
At  least  Dick  Mansell  says  so.  Does  he  say  why 
he's  coming  back  ?  " 

"  Well,  he  s'poses  it's  the  girl— Miss  Betty." 

"Ah!" 

Joe  shifted  uneasily. 

"  It  don't  seem  right — him  a  crook,"  he  said,  with 
some  diffidence. 

"  No."     Then   Dave's  thoughtful  look  suddenly 


DICK  MANSELL'S  NEWS  57 

changed  to  one  of  business  alertness,  and  his  tone 
became  crisp.  "  See  here,  Joe,  what  about  that 
new  tackle  for  the  mills  ?  Those  hooks  and  chains 
must  be  ready  in  a  week.  Then  there's  those  cant- 
hooks  for  the  hill  camps.  The  smiths  up  there  are 
hard  at  it,  so  I'm  going  to  look  to  you  for  a  lot. 
Then  there's  another  thing.  Is  your  boy  Alec  fit  to 
join  the  mills  and  take  his  place  with  the  other 
smiths  ?  I  want  another  hand." 

"  Sure,  he's  a  right  good  lad — an'  thankee.  I'll 
send  him  along  right  away."  The  blacksmith  was 
delighted.  He  always  wanted  to  get  his  boy  taken 
on  at  the  mill.  The  work  that  came  his  way  he 
could  cope  with  himself ;  besides,  he  had  an  assistant. 
He  didn't  want  his  boy  working  under  him ;  it  was 
not  his  idea  of  things.  It  was  far  better  that  he 
should  get  out  and  work  under  strangers. 

"  Well,  that's  settled." 

Dave  turned  to  his  dinner  and  Joe  Hardwig  took 
his  leave,  and  when  mother  and  son  were  left  to- 
gether again  the  old  woman  lost  no  time  in  discuss- 
ing Dick  Mansell  and  his  unpleasant  news. 

"  I  never  could  bear  that  Mansell,"  she  said,  with 
a  severe  shake  of  her  head. 

"  No,  ma.  But  he's  a  good  sawyer — and  I  need 
such  men." 

The  old  woman  looked  up  quickly. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  Jim  Truscott." 

"  That's  how  I  guessed." 

"  Well  ?     What  do  you  think  ?  " 

Dave  shook  his  head. 


58  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

"  I  haven't  seen  Jim  yet,"  he  said.  "  Ma,  we 
ain't  Jim's  judges." 

«  No." 

"  I'm  going  down  to  the  depot,"  Dave  said  after 
a  while.  "  Guess  I've  got  some  messages  to  send. 
I'm  getting  anxious  about  that  strike.  They  say 
that  neither  side  will  give  way.  The  railway  is 
pretty  arbitrary  on  this  point,  and  the  plate-layers 
are  a  strong  union.  I've  heard  that  the  brakesmen 
and  engine-drivers  are  going  to  join  them.  If  they 
do,  it's  going  to  be  bad  for  us.  That  is,  in  a  way. 
Strikes  are  infectious,  and  I  don't  want  'em  around 
here  just  now.  We've  got  to  cut  a  hundred  thou- 
sand foot  a  day  steady,  and  anything  delaying  us 
means — well,  it's  no  use  thinking  what  it  means. 
We've  got  to  be  at  full  work  night  and  day  until 
we  finish.  I'll  get  going." 

He  pushed  his  plate  away  and  rose  from  the 
table.  He  paused  while  he  filled  and  lit  his  pipe, 
then  he  left  the  house.  Joe  Hardwig's  news  had 
disturbed  him  more  than  he  cared  to  admit,  and  he 
did  not  want  to  discuss  it,  even  with  his  mother. 


CHAPTER  V 

JIM  TRUSCOTT  RETURNS 

DAVE  was  on  the  outskirts  of  the  village  when  he 
fell  in  with  Parson  Tom.  Tom  was  on  ahead,  but 
he  saw  the  great  lumbering  figure  swinging  along 
the  trail  behind  him,  and  waited. 

"  Hello,  Dave,"  he  greeted  him,  as  he  came  up. 
"  It's  ages  since  I've  seen  you." 

The  master  of  the  mills  laughed  good-naturedly. 

"  Sure,"  he  said,  "  my  loafing  days  are  over.  I'll 
be  ground  hollow  before  I'm  through.  The  grind- 
stone's good  and  going.  It's  good  to  be  at  work, 
Tom.  I  mean  what  you'd  call  at  your  great  work. 
When  I'm  through  you  shall  have  the  finest  church 
that  red  pine  can  build." 

"  Ah,  it's  good  to  hear  you  talk  like  that.  I  take 
it  things  are  running  smoothly.  It's  not  many  men 
who  deserve  to  make  millions,  but  I  think  you  are 
one  of  the  few." 

Dave  shook  his  head. 

"  You're  prejudiced  about  me,  Tom,"  he  replied 
smiling,  "  but  I  want  that  money.  And  when  I  get 
it  we'll  carry  out  all  our  schemes.  You  know,  the 
schemes  we've  talked  over  and  planned  and  planned. 
Well,  when  the  time  comes,  we  won't  forget 
'em " 

"  Like  most  people  do.     Hello  ! "     The  parson 


60  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

was  looking  ahead  in  the  direction  of  a  small  crowd 
standing-  outside  Harley-Smith's  saloon.  There 
was  an  anxious  look  in  his  clear  blue  eyes,  and 
some  comprehension.  The  crowd  was  swaying 
about  in  unmistakable  fashion,  and  experience  told 
him  that  a  fight  was  in  progress.  He  had  seen  so 
many  fights  in  Malkern.  Suddenly  he  turned  to 
Dave  — 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  To  the  depot." 

"  Good.  I'll  just  cut  along  over  there.  That 
must  be  stopped." 

Dave  gazed  at  the  swaying  crowd.  Several  men 
were  running  to  join  it.  Then  he  looked  down 
from  his  great  height  at  the  slim,  athletic  figure  of 
his  friend. 

"  Do  you  want  any  help  ?  "  he  inquired  casually. 

Parson  Tom  shook  his  head. 

"  No,"  he  said,  with  a  smile  of  perfect  confidence. 
"  They're  children,  all  simple  children.  Big  and 
awkward  and  unruly,  if  you  like,  but  all  children.  I 
can  manage  them." 

"  I  believe  you  can,"  said  Dave.  "  Well,  so  long. 
Don't  be  too  hard  on  them.  Remember  they're 
children." 

Tom  Chepstow  laughed  back  at  him  as  he  hur- 
ried away. 

"  All  right.  But  unruly  children  need  physical 
correction  as  well  as  moral.  And  if  it  is  necessary 
I  shan't  spare  them." 

He   went  off  at  a  run,  and  Dave  went  on  to  the 


JIM  TRUSCOTT  RETURNS  61 

depot.  He  knew  his  friend  down  to  his  very  core. 
There  was  no  man  in  the  village  who  was  the  par- 
son's equal  in  the  noble  art  of  self-defense.  And  it 
was  part  of  his  creed  to  meet  the  rougher  members 
of  his  flock  on  their  own  ground.  He  knew  that 
this  militant  churchman  would  stop  that  fight,  and, 
if  necessary,  bodily  chastise  the  offenders.  It  was 
this  wholesome  manliness  that  had  so  endeared  the 
"  fighting  parson  "  to  his  people.  They  loved  him 
for  his  capacity,  and  consequently  respected  him 
far  more  than  they  would  have  done  the  holiest 
preacher  that  ever  breathed.  He  was  a  man  they 
understood. 

The  spiritual  care  of  a  small  lumbering  village  is 
not  lightly  to  be  entered  upon.  A  man  must  be 
peculiarly  fitted  for  it.  In  such  a  place,  where  hu- 
man nature  is  always  at  its  crudest ;  where  muscle, 
and  not  intellect,  must  always  be  the  dominant 
note ;  where  life  is  lived  without  a  thought  for  the 
future,  and  the  present  concern  is  only  the  individ- 
ual fitness  to  execute  a  maximum  of  labor,  and  so 
give  expression  to  a  savage  vanity  in  the  triumph 
of  brute  force,  the  man  who  would  set  out  to  guide 
his  fellows  must  possess  qualities  all  too  rare  in  the 
general  run  of  clergy.  His  theology  must  be  of  the 
simplest,  broadest  order.  He  must  live  the  life  of 
his  flock,  and  teach  almost  wholly  by  example. 
His  preaching  must  be  lit  with  a  local  setting,  and 
his  brush  must  lay  on  the  color  of  his  people's 
every-day  life. 

Besides    this,   he    must    possess   a    tremendous 


62  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

moral  and  physical  courage,  particularly  the  latter, 
for  to  the  lumber-jack  nothing  else  so  appeals.  He 
must  feel  that  he  is  in  the  presence  of  a  man  who  is 
always  his  equal,  if  not  his  superior,  in  those  things 
he  understands.  Tom  Chepstow  was  all  this.  He 
was  a  lumberman  himself  at  heart.  He  knew  every 
detail  of  the  craft.  He  had  lived  that  life  all  his 
manhood's  days. 

Then  he  possessed  a  rare  gift  in  medicine.  He 
had  purposely  studied  it  and  taken  his  degrees,  for 
no  one  knew  better  than  he  the  strength  this 
added  to  his  position.  He  shed  his  healing  powers 
upon  his  people,  a  gift  that  reaped  him  a  devotion 
no  sanctity  and  godliness  could  ever  have  brought 
him.  Parson  Tom  was  a  practical  Christian  first, 
and  attended  only  to  spiritual  welfare  when  the 
body  had  been  duly  cared  for. 

Dave  went  on  to  the  depot,  where  he  despatched 
his  messages.  Then  he  extracted  from  Jenkins 
Mudley  all  the  information  he  possessed  upon  the 
matter  of  the  plate-layers'  strike,  and  finally  took  the 
river  trail  back  to  the  mills. 

His  way  took  him  across  the  log  bridge  over  the 
river,  and  here  he  paused,  leaning  upon  the  rail,  and 
gazed  thoughtfully  down  the  woodland  avenue 
which  enclosed  the  turbulent  stream. 

Somehow  he  could  never  cross  that  bridge  with- 
out pausing  to  admire  the  wonderful  beauty  of  his 
little  friend's  surroundings.  He  always  thought  of 
this  river  as  his  friend.  How  much  it  was  his  friend 
only  he  knew.  But  for  it,  and  its  peculiarities,  his 


JIM  TRUSCOTT  RETURNS  63 

work  would  be  impossible.  He  did  not  have  to  do 
as  so  many  lumbermen  have  to,  depend  on  the 
spring  freshet  to  carry  his  winter  cut  down  to  his 
mill.  The  melting  snows  of  the  mountains  kept  the 
river  flowing,  a  veritable  torrent,  during  the  whole 
of  the  open  season,  and  at  such  time  he  possessed 
in  it  a  never-failing  transport  line  which  cost  him 
not  one  cent. 

The  hour  he  had  allowed  for  his  dinner  was  not 
yet  up,  and  he  felt  that  he  could  indulge  himself  a 
little  longer,  so  he  refilled  his  pipe  and  smoked 
while  he  gazed  contemplatively  into  the  depths  of 
the  dancing  waters  below  him. 

But  his  day-dreaming  was  promptly  interrupted, 
and  the  interruption  was  the  coming  of  Betty,  on 
her  way  home  to  her  dinner  from  the  schoolhouse 
up  on  the  hillside.  He  had  seen  her  only  once 
since  the  day  that  brought  him  the  news  of 
his  contract.  That  was  on  the  following  Sunday, 
when  he  went,  as  usual,  to  Tom  Chepstow's  for 
supper. 

Just  at  that  moment  Betty  was  the  last  person  he 
wanted  to  see.  That  was  his  first  thought  when  he 
heard  her  step  on  the  bridge.  He  had  forgotten 
that  this  was  her  way  home,  and  that  this  was  her 
dinner-time.  However,  there  was  no  sign  of  his 
reluctance  in  his  face  when  he  greeted  her. 

"  Why,  Betty,"  he  said,  as  gently  as  his  great 
voice  would  let  him,  "  I  hadn't  thought  to  see  you 
coming  this  way."  Then  he  broke  off  and  studied 
her  pretty  oval  face  more  closely.  "  What's 


64  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

wrong  ?  "  he  inquired  presently.  "  You  look — you 
look  kind  of  tired." 

He  was  quite  right.  The  girl  looked  pale  under 
her  tan,  and  there  was  an  unusual  darkness  round 
her  gentle  brown  eyes.  She  looked  very  tired,  in 
spite  of  the  smile  of  welcome  with  which  she 
greeted  him. 

"  Oh,  I'm  all  right,  Dave,"  she  said  at  once.  But 
her  tone  was  cheerless,  in  spite  of  her  best  effort. 

He  shook  his  great  head  and  knocked  his  pipe  out. 

41  There's  something  amiss,  child.  Guess  maybe 
it's  the  heat."  He  turned  his  eyes  up  to  the  blaz- 
ing sun,  as  though  to  reassure  himself  that  the  heat 
was  there. 

Betty  leant  beside  him  on  the  rail.  Her  prox- 
imity, and  the  evident  sadness  of  her  whole  man- 
ner, made  him  realize  that  he  must  not  stay  there. 
At  that  moment  she  looked  such  a  pathetic  little 
figure  that  he  felt  he  could  not  long  be  responsible 
for  what  he  said.  He  longed  to  take  her  in  his 
arms  and  comfort  her. 

He  could  think  of  nothing  to  say  for  a  long  time, 
but  at  last  he  broke  out  with  — 

"  You'd  best  not  go  back  to  the  school  this  after- 
noon." 

But  the  girl  shook  her  head. 

"  It's  not  that,"  she  said.  Then  she  paused. 
Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  rushing  water  as  it 
flowed  beneath  the  bridge. 

He  watched  her  closely,  and  gradually  a  convic- 
tion began  to  grow  in  his  mind. 


JIM  TRUSCOTT  RETURNS  65 

"  Dave,"  she  went  on  at  last,  "  we've  always  been 
such  good  friends,  haven't  we?  You've  always 
been  so  patient  and  kind  with  me  when  I  have 
bothered  you  with  my  little  troubles  and  worries. 
You  never  fail  to  help  me  out.  It  seems  to  me  I 
can  never  quite  do  without  your  help.  I — I" — 
she  smiled  more  like  her  old  self,  and  with  relief  the 
man  saw  some  of  the  alarming  shadows  vanishing 
from  her  face,  "  I  don't  think  I  want  to,  either. 
I've  had  a  long  talk  with  Susan  Hard  wig  this  morn- 
ing." 

"  Ah ! " 

The  man's  growing  conviction  had  received  con- 
firmation. 

"  What  did  that  mean  ?  "  Betty  asked  quickly. 

Dave  was  staring  out  down  the  river. 

"Just  nothing.  Only  I've  had  a  goodish  talk 
with  Joe  Hardwig." 

"  Then  I  needn't  go  into  the  details.  I've  heard 
the  news  that  Dick  Mansell  has  brought  with  him." 

It  was  a  long  time  before  either  spoke  again. 
For  Dave  there  seemed  so  little  to  say.  What 
could  he  say  ?  Sympathy  was  out  of  the  question. 
He  had  no  right  to  blame  Jim  yet.  Nor  did  he 
feel  that  he  could  hold  out  hope  to  her,  for  in  his 
heart  he  believed  that  the  man's  news  was  true. 

With  Betty,  she  hardly  knew  how  to  express  her 
feelings.  She  hardly  knew  what  her  feelings  were. 
At  the  time  Mrs.  Hardwig  poured  her  tale  into  her 
ears  she  had  listened  quite  impersonally.  Some- 
how the  story  had  not  appealed  to  her  as  concern- 


66  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

ing  herself,  and  her  dominant  thought  had  been 
pity  for  the  man.  It  was  not  until  afterward, 
when  she  was  alone  on  her  way  to  the  school,  that 
the  full  significance  of  it  came  to  her;  and  then  it 
came  as  a  shock.  She  remembered,  all  of  a  sud- 
den, that  she  was  promised  to  Jim.  That  when 
Jim  came  back  she  was  to  marry  him.  From  that 
moment  the  matter  had  never  been  out  of  her 
mind ;  through  all  her  school  hours  it  was  with  her, 
and  her  attention  had  been  so  distracted  from  her 
work  that  she  found  her  small  pupils  getting  out  of 
hand. 

Yes,  she  was  to  marry  Jim,  and  they  told  her  he 
was  a  drunkard,  a  gambler,  and  a  "  crook."  She 
had  given  him  her  promise ;  she  had  sent  him  away. 
It  was  her  own  doing.  Her  feelings  toward  him 
never  came  into  her  thoughts.  During  the  long 
five  years  of  his  absence  he  had  become  a  sort  of 
habit  to  her.  She  had  never  thought  of  her  real 
feelings  after  the  first  month  or  two  of  his  going. 
She  was  simply  waiting  for  him,  and  would  marry 
him  when  he  came.  It  was  only  now,  when  she 
heard  this  story  of  him,  that  her  feelings  were  called 
upon  to  assert  themselves,  and  the  result  was  some- 
thing very  like  horror  at  her  own  position. 

She  remembered  now  her  disappointment  at  the 
first  realization  of  all  her  hopes,  when  Jim  had  asked 
her  to  marry  him.  She  had  not  understood  then, 
but  now — now  she  did.  She  knew  that  she  had 
never  really  loved  him.  And  at  the  thought  of  his 
return  she  was  filled  with  horror  and  dread 


JIM  TRUSCOTT  RETURNS  67 

She  was  glad  that  she  had  met  Dave ;  she  had 
longed  to  see  him.  He  was  the  one  person  she 
could  always  lean  on.  And  in  her  present  trouble 
she  wanted  to  lean  on  him. 

"  Dave,"  she  began  at  last,  in  a  voice  so  hopeless 
that  it  cut  him  to  the  heart,  "  somehow  I  believe 
that  story.  That  is,  in  the  main.  Don't  think  it 
makes  any  difference  to  me.  I  shall  marry  him 
just  the  same.  Only  I  seem  to  see  him  in  his  real 
light  now.  He  was  always  weak,  only  I  didn't  see 
it  then.  He  was  not  really  the  man  to  go  out  into 
the  world  to  fight  alone.  We  were  wrong.  I  was 
wrong.  He  should  have  stayed  here." 

"  Yes,"  Dave  nodded. 

"  He  must  begin  over  again,"  she  went  on,  after 
a  pause.  "  When  he  comes  here  we  must  help  him 
to  a  fresh  start,  and  we  must  blot  his  past  out  of 
our  minds  altogether.  There  is  time  enough.  He 
is  young.  Now  I  want  you  to  help  me.  We  must 
ask  him  no  questions.  If  he  wants  to  speak  he  can 
do  so.  Now  that  you  are  booming  at  the  mills  we 
can  help  him  to  reopen  his  mill,  and  I  know  you 
can,  and  will,  help  him  by  putting  work  in  his  way. 
All  this  is  what  I've  been  thinking  out.  When  he 
comes,  and  we  are — married,"  there  was  the  slight- 
est possible  hesitation  before  the  word,  and  Dave's 
quick  ears  and  quicker  senses  were  swift  to  hear 
and  interpret  it,  "  I  am  going  to  help  him  with  the 
work.  I'll  give  up  my  school.  I've  always  had 
such  a  contingency  in  my  mind.  That's  why  I  got 
you  to  teach  me  your  work  when  he  first  went 


68  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

away.  Tell  me,  Dave,  you'll  help  me  in  this.  You 
see  the  boy  can't  help  his  weakness.  Perhaps  we  are 
stronger  than  he,  and  between  us  we  can  help  him." 

The  man  looked  at  her  a  long  time  in  silence,  and 
all  the  while  his  loyal  heart  was  crying  out.  His 
gray  eyes  shone  with  a  light  she  did  not  compre- 
hend. She  saw  their  fixed  smile,  and  only  read  in 
them  the  assent  he  never  withheld  from  her. 

"  I  knew  you  would,"  she  murmured. 

It  was  her  voice  that  roused  him.  And  he  spoke 
just  as  she  turned  away  in  the  direction  of  the 
schoolhouse  trail,  whence  proceeded  the  sound  of 
a  horse  galloping. 

"  Yes,  Betty — I'll  help  you  sure,"  he  said  in  his 
deep  voice. 

"  You'll  help  him,  you  -mean,"  she  corrected, 
turning  back  to  him. 

But  Dave  ignored  the  correction. 

"  Tell  me,  Betty,"  he  went  on  again,  this  time 
with  evident  diffidence :  "  you're  glad  he's  coming 
back  ?  You  feel  happy  about — about  getting  mar- 
ried ?  You — love  him  ?  " 

The  girl  stared  straight  up  into  the  plain  face. 
Her  look  was  so  honest,  so  full  of  decision,  that  her 
reply  left  no  more  to  be  said. 

"  Five  years  ago  I  gave  him  my  promise.  That 
promise  I  shall  redeem,  unless  Jim,  himself,  makes 
its  fulfilment  impossible." 

The  man  nodded. 

"  You  can  come  to  me  for  anything  you  need  for 
him,"  he  said  simply. 


JIM  TRUSCOTT  RETURNS  69 

Betty  was  about  to  answer  with  an  outburst  of 
gratitude  when,  with  a  rush,  a  horseman  came  gal- 
loping round  the  bend  of  the  trail  and  clattered  on 
to  the  bridge.  At  sight  of  the  two  figures  stand- 
ing by  the  rail  the  horse  jibbed,  threw  himself  on  to 
his  haunches,  and  then  shied  so  violently  that  the 
rider  was  unseated  and  half  out  of  the  saddle,  cling- 
ing desperately  to  the  animal's  neck  to  right  him- 
self. And  as  he  hung  there  struggling,  the  string 
of  filthy  oaths  that  were  hurled  at  the  horse,  and 
any  and  everybody,  was  so  foul  that  Betty  tried  to 
stop  her  ears. 

Dave  sprang  at  the  horse  and  seized  the  bridle 
with  one  hand,  with  the  other  he  grabbed  the 
horseman  and  thrust  him  up  into  the  saddle.  The 
feat  could  only  have  been  performed  by  a  man  of 
his  herculean  strength. 

"  Cut  that  language,  you  gopher ! "  he  roared 
into  the  fellow's  ears  as  he  lifted  him. 

"  Cut  the  language  !  "  cried  the  infuriated  man. 
"  What  in  hell  are  you  standing  on  a  bridge  spoon- 
ing your  girl  for  ?  This  bridge  ain't  for  that  sort  of 
truck — it's  for  traffic,  curse  you  !  " 

By  the  time  the  man  had  finished  speaking  he 
had  straightened  up  in  the  saddle,  and  his  face  was 
visible  to  all.  Dave  jumped  back,  and  Betty  gave 
a  little  cry.  It  was  Jim  Truscott ! 

Yes,  it  was  Jim  Truscott,  but  so  changed  that 
even  Betty  could  scarcely  believe  the  evidence  of 
her  eyes.  In  place  of  the  bright,  clever-looking 
face,  the  slim  figure  she  had  always  had  in  her 


70  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

mind  during  the  long  five  years  of  his  absence,  she 
now  beheld  a  bloated,  bearded  man,  without  one 
particle  of  the  old  refinement  which  had  been  one 
of  his  most  pronounced  characteristics.  It  seemed 
incredible  that  five  years  could  have  so  changed 
him.  Even  his  voice  was  almost  unrecognizable, 
so  husky  had  it  become.  His  eyes  no  longer  had 
their  look  of  frank  honesty,  they  were  dull  and 
lustreless,  and  leered  morosely.  Her  heart  sank  as 
she  looked  at  him,  and  she  remembered  Dick  Man- 
sell's  story. 

All  three  stared  for  a  moment  without  speaking. 
Then  Jim  broke  into  a  laugh  so  harsh  that  it  made 
the  girl  shudder. 

"  Well  I'm  damned ! "  he  cried.  "  Of  all  the 
welcomes  home  this  beats  hell !  " 

"  Jim — oh,  Jim  !  " 

The  cry  of  horror  and  pain  was  literally  wrung 
from  the  girl.  Nor  was  it  without  effect.  The 
man  seemed  to  realize  his  uncouthness,  for  he  sud- 
denly took  off  his  hat,  and  his  face  became  serious. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Betty,"  he  said  apologet- 
ically. "  I  forgot  where  I  was.  I  forgot  that  the 
Yukon  was  behind  me,  and " 

"  That  you're  talking  to  the  lady  you're  engaged 
to  be  married  to,"  put  in  Dave  sharply. 

Dave's  words  drew  the  younger  man's  attention 
to  himself.  For  a  second  a  malicious  flash  shone 
in  the  bloated  eyes.  Then  he  dropped  them  and 
held  out  his  hand. 

"  How  do,  Dave  ?  "  he  said  coldly. 


JIM  TRUSCOTT  RETURNS  71 

Dave  responded  without  any  enthusiasm.  He 
was  chilled,  chilled  and  horrified,  and  he  knew  that 
Mansell's  story  was  no  exaggeration.  He  watched 
Jim  turn  again  to  Betty.  He  saw  the  strained 
look  in  the  girl's  eyes,  and  he  waited. 

"  I'll  come  along  up  to  the  house  later,"  Jim  said 
coolly.  "  Guess  I'll  get  along  to  the  hotel  and  get 
cleaned  some.  I  allow  I  ain't  fit  for  party  calls  at 
a  hog  pen  just  about  now.  So  long." 

He  jabbed  his  horse's  sides  with  his  heels  and 
dashed  across  the  bridge.  In  a  moment  he  was 
gone. 

It  was  some  time  before  a  word  was  spoken  on 
the  bridge.  Dave  was  waiting,  and  Betty  could 
find  no  words.  She  was  frightened.  She  wanted 
to  cry,  and  through  it  all  her  heart  felt  like  lead  in 
her  bosom.  But  her  dominant  feeling  was  fear. 

14  Well,  little  Betty,"  said  Dave  presently,  in  that 
gentle  protecting  manner  he  so  often  assumed 
toward  her,  "  I  must  go  on  to  the  mills.  What  are 
you  going  to  do?" 

"  I'm  going  home,"  she  said  ;  and  to  the  keenly 
sympathetic  ears  of  the  man  the  note  of  misery  in 
her  voice  was  all  too  plain. 


CHAPTER  VI 

PARSON  TOM   INTERFERES 

IT  was  nearly  five  o'clock  and  the  table  was  set 
for  tea.  Betty  was  standing  at  the  window  staring 
thoughtfully  out  upon  the  valley.  Ordinarily  her 
contemplation  would  have  been  one  of  delighted 
interest,  for  the  scene  was  her  favorite  view  of  the 
valley,  where  every  feature  of  it,  the  village,  the 
mill,  the  river,  assumed  its  most  picturesque  aspect. 

She  loved  the  valley  with  a  deep  affection.  Un- 
like most  people,  who  tire  of-  their  childhood's 
surroundings  and  pant  for  fresh  sights,  fresh  fields 
in  which  to  expand  their  thoughts  and  feelings,  she 
clung  to  the  valley  with  all  an  artist's  love  for  the 
beautiful,  and  a  strength  inspired  by  the  loyal  affec- 
tion of  a  simple  woman.  Her  delight  in  her  sur- 
roundings amounted  almost  to  a  passion.  To  her 
this  valley  was  a  treasured  possession.  The  river 
was  a  friend,  a  fiery,  turbulent  friend,  and  often  she 
had  declared,  when  in  a  whimsical  mood,  one  to 
whom  she  could  tell  her  innermost  secrets  without 
fear  of  their  being  passed  on,  in  confidence,  to  an- 
other, or  of  having  them  flung  back  in  her  face 
when  spite  stirred  its  tempestuous  soul. 

She  knew  her  river's  shortcomings,  she  knew  its 
every  mood.  It  was  merely  a  torrent,  a  strenuous 
mountain  torrent,  but  to  her  it  possessed  a  real 


PARSON  TOM  INTERFERES  73 

personality.  In  the  spring  flood  it  was  like  some 
small  individual  bursting  with  its  own  importance, 
with  its  vanity,  with  resentment  at  the  restraint  of 
the  iron  hand  of  winter,  from  which  it  had  only  just 
torn  itself  loose,  and  stirred  to  the  depths  of  its 
frothy  soul  with  an  overwhelming  desire  for  self- 
assertion.  Often  she  had  watched  the  splendid 
destruction  of  which  it  was  capable  at  such  a  time. 
She  had  seen  the  forest  giants  go  down  at  the  roar 
of  its  battle-cry.  She  had  often  joined  the  villagers, 
standing  fearful  and  dismayed,  watching  its  mount- 
ing waters  lest  their  homes  should  be  devoured  by 
the  insatiable  little  monster,  and  filled  with  awe  at 
its  magnificent  bluster. 

Then,  in  the  extreme  heat  of  the  late  summer, 
when  autumn  had  tinged  the  valley  to  a  glorious 
gold  and  russet,  she  had  just  as  often  seen  the 
reverse  side  of  the  picture.  No  longer  could  the 
river  draw  on  the  vast  supplies  of  the  melting 
mountain  snows,  and  so  it  was  doomed  to  fall  a 
prey  to  the  mighty  grip  of  winter,  and,  as  if  in 
anticipation  of  its  end,  it  would  sing  its  song  of 
sadness  as  it  sobbed  quietly  over  its  fallen  greatness, 
sighing  dismally  amongst  the  debris  which  in  the 
days  of  its  power  it  had  so  wantonly  torn  from  its 
banks. 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  the  girl's  character  in 
her  love  for  the  river.  She  possessed  an  enthusi- 
astic admiration  for  that  strength  which  fights, 
fights  until  the  last  drop  of  blood,  the  last  atom  of 
power  is  expended.  Fallen  greatness  evoked  her 


74  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

enthusiasm  as  keenly  as  success,  only  that  the 
enthusiasm  was  of  a  different  nature.  With  her  it 
was  better  to  have  striven  with  all  one's  might  and 
encountered  disaster  than  to  have  lived  fallow,  a  life 
of  the  most  perfect  rectitude.  Her  twenty-seven 
years  of  life  had  set  her  thrilling  with  a  mental  and 
physical  virility  which  was  forever  urging  her,  and 
steadily  moulding  her  whole  outlook  upon  life,  even 
though  that  outlook  carried  her  no  farther  than  the 
confines  of  her  beautiful  sunlit  valley. 

Something  of  this  was  stirring  within  her  now. 
She  was  not  thinking  of  that  which  her  eyes  looked 
upon.  She  was  thinking  of  the  man  to  whom  she 
had  given  her  promise,  her  woman's  promise,  which 
carries  with  it  all  the  best  a  woman  has  to  give. 
She  was  no  weakling,  dreaming  regretfully  of  all 
that  might  have  been;  she  had  no  thought  of  re- 
tracting because  in  her  heart  she  knew  she  had 
made  a  mistake.  She  was  reviewing  the  man  as 
she  had  seen  him  that  noon,  and  considering  the 
story  of  his  doings  as  she  had  been  told  them, 
quietly  making  up  her  mind  to  her  own  line  of 
action. 

He  was  presently  to  come  up  to  her  home  to 
have  tea  with  them,  and  she  would  be  given  the 
opportunity  of  seeing  the  man  that  five  years' 
absence  in  the  wilds  had  made  of  him.  Once  or 
twice  she  almost  shuddered  as  the  details  of  their 
meeting  on  the  bridge  obtruded  themselves.  She 
tried  to  shut  them  out.  She  understood  the  rough 
side  of  men,  for  she  lived  amongst  a  people  in 


PARSON  TOM  INTERFERES  75 

whom  it  was  difficult  enough  to  trace  even  a  sem- 
blance of  gentleness.  She  allowed  for  the  moment 
of  provocation  when  the  man's  horse  had  shied  and 
unseated  him.  She  realized  the  natural  inclination 
it  would  inspire  to  forcibly,  even  if  irresponsibly, 
protest.  Even  the  manner  of  his  protest  she  con- 
doned. But  his  subsequent  attitude,  his  appear- 
ance, and  his  manner  toward  herself,  these  were 
things  which  had  an  ugly  tone,  and  for  which  she 
could  find  no  extenuation. 

However,  it  should  all  be  settled  that  afternoon. 
She  unfolded  and  straightened  out  a  piece  of  paper 
she  had  been  abstractedly  crumpling  in  her  hand. 
She  glanced  at  the  unsteady  writing  on  it,  a  writing 
she  hardly  recognized  as  Jim's. 

"  Will  come  up  to  tea  this  afternoon.  Sorry  for 
this  morning. — JIM." 

That  was  the  note  he  had  sent  her  soon  after  she 
had  reached  home.  There  was  no  word  of  affection 
in  it.  Nothing  but  a  bare  statement  and  an  apology 
which  scarcely  warranted  the  name.  To  her  it 
seemed  to  have  been  prompted  by  the  man's 
realization  of  an  unpleasant  and  undesired  duty  to 
be  performed.  The  few  letters  she  had  received 
from  him  immediately  before  his  return  had  borne 
a  similar  tone  of  indifference,  and  once  or  twice  she 
had  felt  that  she  ought  to  write  and  offer  him  his 
freedom.  This,  however,  she  had  never  done,  feel- 
ing that  by  doing  so  she  might  be  laying  herself 
open  to  misinterpretation.  No,  if  their  engage- 


76  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

ment  were  distasteful  to  him,  it  must  be  Jim  who 
broke  it.  Unlike  most  women,  she  would  rather  he 
threw  her  over  than  bear  the  stigma  of  having 
jilted  him.  She  had  thought  this  all  out  very  care- 
fully. She  had  an  almost  mannish  sense  of  honor, 
just  as  she  possessed  something  of  a  man's  courage 
to  carry  out  her  obligations. 

She  glanced  over  the  tea-table.  There  were  four 
places  set.  The  table  was  daintily  arranged,  and 
though  the  china  was  cheap,  and  there  was  no  dis- 
play of  silver,  or  any  elaborate  furnishings,  it 
looked  attractive.  The  bread  and  butter  was  deli- 
cate, the  assortment  of  home-made  cakes  luscious, 
the  preserves  the  choicest  from  her  aunt's  store- 
cupboard.  Betty  had  been  careful,  too,  that  the 
little  sitting-room,  with  its  simple  furniture  and  un- 
pretentious decorations,  should  be  in  the  nicest 
order.  She  had  looked  to  everything  so  that 
Jim's  welcome  should  be  as  cordial  as  kindly  hearts 
could  make  it.  And  now  she  was  awaiting  his 
coming. 

The  clock  on  the  sideboard  chimed  five,  and  a 
few  moments  later  her  uncle  came  in. 

"  What  about  tea,  Betty  ?  "  he  inquired,  glancing 
with  approval  at  the  careful  preparations  for  the 
meal. 

"  I  think  we  ought  to  wait,"  she  replied,  with  a 
wistful  smile  into  his  keen  blue  eyes.  "  I  sent  word 
to  Jim  for  five  o'clock — but — well,  perhaps  some- 
thing has  detained  him." 

"  No   doubt,"   observed   the   parson   dryly.     "  I 


PARSON  TOM  INTERFERES  77 

dare  say  five  minutes  added  on  to  five  years  means 
nothing  to  Jim." 

He  didn't  approve  the  man's  attitude  at  all.  All 
his  ideas  on  the  subject  of  courtship  had  been  out- 
raged at  his  delay  in  calling.  H«  had  been  in  the 
village  nearly  five  hours. 

The  girl  rearranged  the  teacups. 

"  You  mustn't  be  hard  on  him,"  she  said  quietly. 
"  He  had  to  get  cleaned  up  and  settled  at  the  hotel. 
I  don't  suppose  he'd  care  to  come  here  like — 
like " 

"  It  doesn't  take  a  man  five  hours  to  do  all  that," 
broke  in  her  uncle,  with  some  warmth.  Then,  as 
he  faced  the  steady  gaze  of  the  girl's  brown  eyes, 
he  abruptly  changed  his  tone  and  smiled  at  her. 
«'  Yes,  of  course  we'll  wait.  We'll  give  him  half  an 
hour's  grace,  and  then — I'll  fetch  him." 

Betty  smiled.  There  was  a  characteristic  snap  in 
the  parson's  final  declaration.  The  militant  char- 
acter of  the  man  was  always  very  near  the  surface. 
He  was  the  kindest  and  best  of  men,  but  anything 
suggesting  lack  of  straightforwardness  in  those  from 
whom  he  had  a  right  to  expect  the  reverse  never 
failed  to  rouse  his  ire. 

For  want  of  something  better  to  do  Betty  was 
carrying  out  a  further  rearrangement  of  the  tea- 
table,  and  presently  her  uncle  questioned  her 
shrewdly. 

"  You  don't  seem  very  elated  at  Jim's  return?" 
he  said. 

"  I  am  more  than  pleased,"  she  replied  gravely. 


78  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

Parson  Tom  took  up  his  stand  at  the  window 
with  his  back  turned. 

"  When  I  was  engaged  to  your  aunt,"  he  said, 
smiling  out  at  the  valley,  "  if  I  had  been  away  for 
five  years  and  suddenly  returned,  she  would  probably 
have  had  about  three  fits,  a  scene  of  shrieking  hys- 
teria, and  gone  to  bed  for  a  week.  By  all  of  which 
I  mean  she  would  have  been  simply  crazy  with  de- 
light. It  must  be  the  difference  of  temperament, 
eh?"  He  turned  round  and  stood  smiling  keenly 
across  at  the  girl's  serious  face. 

"  Yes,  uncle,  I  don't  think  I  am  demonstrative." 

"  Do  j'ou  want  to  marry  him?  " 

The  man's  eyes  were  perfectly  serious  now. 

"  I  am  going  to  marry  him — unless " 

"  Unless  ?  " 

"  Unless  he  refuses  to  marry  me." 

"  Do  you  want  to  marry  him,  my  dear  ?  That 
was  my  question." 

Her  uncle  had  crossed  over  to  her  and  stood 
looking  down  at  her  with  infinite  tenderness  in  his 
eyes.  She  returned  his  gaze,  and  slowly  a  smile 
replaced  her  gravity. 

"  You  are  very  literal,  uncle,"  she  said  gently. 
"If  you  want  an  absolutely  direct  reply  it  is 
« Yes.'  " 

But  her  uncle  was  not  quite  satisfied. 

"  You — love  him  ?  "  he  persisted. 

But  this  catechism  was  too  much  for  Betty.  She 
was  devoted  to  her  uncle,  and  she  knew  that  his 
questions  were  prompted  by  the  kindliest  motives. 


PARSON  TOM  INTERFERES  79 

But  in  this  matter  she  felt  that  she  was  entirely 
justified  in  thinking  and  acting  for  herself. 

"  You  don't  quite  understand,"  she  said,  with  just 
a  shade  of  impatience.  "  Jim  and  I  are  engaged, 
and  you  must  leave  us  to  settle  matters  ourselves. 
If  you  press  me  I  shall  speak  the  plain  truth,  and 
then  you  will  have  a  wrong  impression  of  the 
position.  I  perfectly  understand  my  own  feelings. 
I  am  not  blinded  by  them.  I  shall  act  as  I  think 
best,  and  you  must  rely  on  my  own  judgment.  I 
quite  realize  that  you  want  to  help  me.  But 
neither  you  nor  any  one  else  can  do  that,  uncle. 
Ah,  here  is  auntie,"  she  exclaimed,  with  evident 
relief. 

Mrs.  Chepstow  came  in.  She  was  hot  from  her 
work  in  the  kitchen,  where  she  was  operating,  with 
the  aid  of  her  "  hired  "  girl,  a  large  bake  of  cakes 
for  the  poorer  villagers.  She  looked  at  the  clock 
sharply. 

"  Why,  it's  half-past  five  and  no  tea,"  she  ex- 
claimed, her  round  face  shining,  and  her  gentle  eyes 
wide  open.  "Where's  Jim?  Not  here?  Why,  I 
am  astonished.  Betty,  what  are  you  thinking  of? 
— and  after  five  years,  too." 

"  Betty  hasn't  got  him  in  proper  harness  yet," 
laughed  the  parson,  but  there  was  a  look  in  his  eyes 
which  was  not  in  harmony  with  his  laugh. 

"  Harness  ?  Don't  be  absurd,  Tom."  Then  she 
turned  to  Betty.  "  Did  you  tell  him  five  ?  " 

Tom  Chepstow  picked  up  his  hat,  and  before  the 
girl  could  answer  he  was  at  the  door. 


80  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

"  I'm  going  to  fetch  him,"  he  said,  and  was  gone 
before  Betty's  protest  reached  him. 

"  I  do  wish  uncle  wouldn't  interfere,"  the  girl 
said,  as  her  aunt  laughed  at  her  husband's  pre- 
cipitate exit. 

"Interfere,  my  dear!"  she  exclaimed.  "You 
can't  stop  him.  He's  got  a  perverted  notion  that 
we  women  are  incapable  of  taking  care  of  ourselves. 
He  goes  through  life  determined  to  fight  our  battles. 
Determined  to  help  us  out  when  we  don't  need  it. 
He's  helped  me  '  out '  all  our  married  life.  He 
spends  his  life  doing  it,  and  I  often  wish  he'd — he'd 
leave  me  '  in  '  sometimes.  I've  never  seen  a  man 
who  could  upset  a  woman's  plans  more  completely 
than  your  uncle,  and  all  with  the  best  intention. 
One  of  these  days  I'll  start  to  help  him  out,  and 
then  we'll  see  how  he  likes  it,"  she  laughed  good- 
humoredly.  "  You  know,  if  he  finds  Jim  he's  sure 
to  upset  the  boy,  and  he'll  come  back  thinking  he's 
done  his  duty  by  you.  Poor  Tom,  and  he  does 
mean  so  well." 

"  I  know  he  does,  auntie,  and  that's  why  we 
all  love  him  so.  Everybody  loves  him  for  it, 
He  never  thinks  of  himself.  It's  always  others, 
and " 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  you're  right.  But  all  the  same  I 
think  he's  right  just  now.  Why  isn't  Jim  here? 
Why  didn't  he  come  straight  away  ?  Why  has  he 
been  in  Malkern  five  hours  before  he  comes  to  see 
you?  Betty,  my  child,  I've  not  said  a  word  all 
these  years.  I've  left  you  to  your  own  affairs 


PARSON  TOM  INTERFERES  81 

because  I  know  your  good  sense ;  but,  in  view  of 
the  stories  that  have  reached  us  about  Jim,  I  feel 
that  the  time  has  come  for  me  to  speak.  Are  you 
going  to  verify  those  stories  ?  " 

Mrs.  Chepstow  established  her  comfortable  form 
in  a  basket  chair,  which  audibly  protested  at  the 
weight  it  was  called  upon  to  bear.  She  folded  her 
hands  in  her  lap,  and,  assuming  her  most  judicial 
air,  waited  for  the  girl's  answer.  Betty  was  think- 
ing of  her  meeting  with  Jim  on  the  bridge. 

"  I  shall  hear  what  he  has  to  say,"  she  said  de- 
cidedly, after  a  long  pause. 

Her  aunt  stared. 

"  You're  going  to  let  him  tell  you  what  he  likes  ?  " 
she  cried  in  astonishment. 

"  He  can  tell  me  what  he  chooses,  or — he  need 
tell  me  nothing." 

Her  aunt  flushed  indignantly. 

"  You  will  never  be  so  foolish,"  she  said,  ex- 
asperated. 

"  Auntie,  if  Uncle  Tom  had  been  away  five  years, 
would  you  ask  him  for  proof  of  his  life  all  that 
time  ?  "  Betty  demanded  with  some  warmth. 

The  other  stirred  uneasily. 

"  That  depends,"  she  said  evasively. 

"  No,  no,  auntie,  it  doesn't.  You  would  never 
question  uncle.  You  are  a  woman,  and  just  as 
foolish  and  stupid  about  that  sort  of  thing  as  the 
rest  of  us.  We  must  take  our  men  on  trust.  They 
are  men,  and  their  lives  are  different  from  ours.  We 
cannot  judge  them,  or,  at  any  rate,  we  would  rather 


82  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

not.  Why  does  a  woman  cling  to  a  scoundrelly 
husband  who  ill-treats  her  and  makes  her  life  one 
long  round  of  worry,  and  even  misery  ?  Is  it  be- 
cause she  simply  has  to  ?  No.  It  is  because  he  is 
her  man.  He  is  hers,  and  she  would  rather  have 
his  unkindness  than  another  man's  caresses.  Fool- 
ish we  may  be,  and  I  am  not  sure  but  that  we 
would  rather  be  foolish — where  our  men  are  con- 
cerned. Jim  has  come  back.  His  past  five  years 
are  his.  I  am  going  to  take  up  my  little  story 
where  it  was  broken  five  years  ago.  The  stories  I 
have  heard  are  nothing  to  me.  So,  if  you  don't 
mind,  dear,  we  will  close  the  subject." 

"  And — and  you  love  him  ?  "  questioned  the  elder 
woman. 

But  the  girl  had  turned  to  the  window.  She 
pointed  out  down  the  road  in  the  direction  of  the 
village. 

"  Here  is  uncle  returning,"  she  said,  ignoring  the 
question.  "  He's  hurrying.  Why — he's  actually 
running !  " 

"  Running?  " 

Mrs.  Chepstow  bustled  to  the  girl's  side,  and  both 
stood  watching  the  vigorous  form  of  the  parson 
racing  up  the  trail.  Just  as  he  came  to  the  veranda 
they  turned  from  the  window  and  their  eyes  met. 
Betty's  were  full  of  pained  apprehension,  while  her 
aunt's  were  alight  with  perplexed  curiosity.  Betty 
felt  that  she  knew  something  of  the  meaning  of  her 
uncle's  undignified  haste.  She  did  not  actually 
interpret  it,  she  knew  it  meant  disaster,  but  the 


PARSON  TOM  INTERFERES  83 

nature  of  that  disaster  never  entered  into  her  thought. 
Something  was  wrong,  she  knew  instinctively  ;  and, 
with  the  patience  of  strength,  she  made  no  attempt 
to  even  guess  at  it,  but  simply  waited.  Her  aunt 
rushed  at  the  parson  as  he  entered  the  room  and 
flung  aside  his  soft  felt  hat.  Betty  gazed  mutely  at 
the  flaming  anger  she  saw  in  his  blue  eyes,  as  his 
wife  questioned  him. 

"  What  is  it  ? "  she  demanded.  "  What  has 
happened  ?  " 

Parson  Tom  drew  a  chair  up  to  the  table  and 
flung  himself  into  it. 

"  We'll  have  tea,"  he  said  curtly. 

His  wife  obediently  took  her  seat. 

"  And  Jim  ?  "  she  questioned. 

The  angry  blue  eyes  still  flashed. 

"  We  won't  wait  for  him." 

Then  Betty  came  to  the  man's  side  and  laid  one 
small  brown  hand  firmly  on  his  shoulder. 

"  You — you  saw  him  ?  "  she  demanded. 

Her  uncle  shook  her  hand  off  almost  roughly. 

"  Yes — I  saw  him,"  he  said. 

"And  why  isn't  he  here?"  the  girl  persisted 
without  a  tremor,  without  even  noticing  his  rebuff. 

"  Because  he's  lying  on  his  bed  at  the  hotel — 
drunk.  Blind  drunk, — confound  him." 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   WORK    AT  THE  MILLS 

IT  was  sundown.  The  evening  shadows,  long 
drawn  out,  were  rapidly  merging  into  the  purple 
shades  of  twilight.  The  hush  of  night  was  stealing 
upon  the  valley. 

There  was  one  voice  alone,  one  discordant  note, 
to  jar  upon  the  peace  of  Nature's  repose.  It  was 
the  voice  of  Dave's  mills,  a  voice  that  was  never 
silent.  The  village,  with  all  its  bustling  life,  its 
noisy  boarding-houses,  its  well-filled  drinking 
booths,  its  roystcring  lumber-jacks  released  from 
their  day's  toil,  was  powerless  to  disturb  that  repose. 
But  the  harsh  voice  of  the  driving  machinery  rose 
dominant  above  all  other  sounds.  Repose  was  im- 
possible, even  for  Nature,  where  the  restless  spirit 
of  Dave's  enterprise  prevailed. 

The  vast  wooden  structures  of  the  mills,  acres  of 
them,  stood  like  some  devouring  growth  at  the  very 
core  of  Nature's  fair  body.  It  almost  seemed  like  a 
living  organism  feeding  upon  all  the  best  she  had  to 
yield.  Day  and  night  the  saws,  like  the  gleaming 
fangs  of  a  voracious  life,  tore,  devoured,  digested, 
and  the  song  of  its  labors  droned  without  ceasing. 

Controlling,  directing,  ordering  to  the  last  detail, 
Dave  sat  in  his  unpretentious  office.  Love  of  the 
lumberman's  craft  ran  hot  in  his  veins.  He  had 


THE  WORK  AT  THE  MILLS  85 

been  born  and  bred  to  it.  He  had  passed  through 
its  every  phase.  He  was  a  sawyer  whose  name 
was  historical  in  the  forests  of  Oregon.  As  a  cant- 
hook  man  he  had  few  equals.  As  foreman  he  could 
extract  more  work  from  these  simple  woodsman 
giants  than  could  those  he  employed  in  a  similar 
capacity. 

In  work  he  was  inevitable.  His  men  knew  that 
when  he  demanded  they  must  yield.  In  this  direc- 
tion he  displayed  no  sympathy,  no  gentleness.  He 
knew  the  disposition  of  the  lumber-jack.  These 
woodsmen  rate  their  employer  by  his  driving 
power.  They  understand  and  expect  to  be  ruled  by 
a  stern  discipline,  and  if  this  treatment  is  not  forth- 
coming, their  employer  may  just  as  well  abandon 
his  enterprise  for  all  the  work  they  will  yield  him. 

But  though  this  was  Dave  in  his  business,  it  was 
the  result  of  his  tremendous  force  of  character 
rather  than  the  nature  of  the  man.  If  he  drove,  it 
was  honestly,  legitimately.  He  paid  for  the  best  a 
man  could  give  him,  and  he  saw  that  he  got  it. 
Sickness  was  sure  of  ready  sympathy,  not  out- 
spoken, but  practical.  He  was  much  like  the  prai- 
rie man  with  his  horse.  His  beast  is  cared  for  far 
better  than  its  master  cares  for  himself,  but  it  must 
work,  and  work  enthusiastically  to  the  last  ounce  of 
its  power.  Fail,  and  the  horse  must  go.  So  it 
was  with  Dave.  The  man  who  failed  him  would 
receive  his  "  time  "  instantly.  There  was  no  ques- 
tion, no  excuse.  And  every  lumber-jack  knew  this 
and  gladly  entered  his  service. 


86  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

Dave  was  closeted  with  his  foreman,  Joel  Daw- 
son,  receiving  the  day's  report. 

"  The  tally's  eighty  thousand,"  Dawson  was  say- 
ing. 

Dave  looked  up  from  his  books.  His  keen, 
humorous  eyes  surveyed  the  man's  squat  figure. 

"  Not  enough,"  he  said. 

"  She's  pressing  hard  now,"  came  the  man's 
rejoinder,  almost  defensively. 

"  She's  got  to  do  twenty  thousand  more," 
retorted  Dave  finally. 

"  Then  y'll  have  to  give  her  more  saw  room." 

"  We'll  see  to  it.  Meanwhile  shove  her.  How 
are  the  logs  running?  Is  Mason  keeping  the 
length  ?  " 

"  Guess  he  cayn't  do  better.  We  ain't  handled 
nothin'  under  eighty  foot." 

"  Good.     They're  driving  down  the  river  fast  ?  " 

"  The  boom's  full,  an'  we're  workin'  'em  good  an' 
plenty."  The  man  paused.  "  'Bout  more  saw 
beds  an'  rollers,"  he  went  on  a  moment  later. 
"  Ther'  ain't  an  inch  o'  space,  boss.  We'll  hev  to 
build." 

Dave  shook  his  head  and  faced  round  from  his 
desk. 

"  There's  no  time.  You'll  have  to  take  out  the 
gang  saws  and  replace  them  for  log  trimming." 

Dawson  spat  into  the  spittoon.  He  eyed  the 
ugly,  powerful  young  features  of  his  boss  specula- 
tively  while  he  made  a  swift  mental  calculation. 

44  That'll    mebbe   give  us  eight  thousand   more. 


THE  WORK  AT  THE  MILLS  87 

'Tain't  enough,  I  guess,"  he  said  emphatically. 
"  Say,  there's  that  mill  up  river.  Her  as  belongs 
to  Jim  Truscott.  If  we  had  her  runnin'  I  'lows 
we'd  handle  twenty-five  thousand  on  a  day  and 
night  shift.  Givin'  us  fifty  all  told." 

Dave's  eyes  lit. 

"  I've  thought  of  that,"  he  said.  "  That'll  put  us 
up  with  a  small  margin.  I'll  see  what  can  be 
done.  How  are  the  new  boys  making  ?  I've  had 
a  good  report  from  Mason  up  on  No.  I  camp. 
He's  transferred  his  older  hands  to  new  camps,  and 
has  the  new  men  with  him.  He's  started  to  cut  on 
Section  80.  His  estimate  is  ten  million  in  the 
stump  on  that  cut ;  all  big  stuff.  He's  running  a 
big  saw-gang  up  there.  The  roads  were  easy  mak- 
ing and  good  for  travoying,  and  most  of  the  timber 
is  within  half  a  mile  of  the  river.  We  don't  need 
to  worry  about  the  '  drive.'  He's  got  the  stuff 
plenty,  and  all  the  «  hands  '  he  needs.  It's  the  mill 
right  here  that's  worrying." 

Dawson  took  a  fresh  chew. 

"  Yes,  it's  the  mill,  I  guess,"  he  said  slowly. 
"  That  an'  this  yer  strike.  We're  goin'  to  feel  it — 
the  strike,  I  mean.  The  engineers  and  firemen  are 
going  '  out,'  I  hear,  sure." 

"  That  doesn't  hit  us,"  said  Dave  sharply.  But 
there  was  a  keen  look  of  inquiry  in  his  eyes. 

"  Don't  it  ? "  Dawson  raised  his  shaggy  eye- 
brows. 

"  Our  stuff  is  merely  to  be  placed  on  board 
here.  The  government  will  see  to  its  transport." 


88  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

The  foreman  shook  his  head. 

"  What  o'  them  firemen  an'  engineers  in  the 
mill  ?  Say,  they're  mostly  union  men,  an' " 

"  I  see."     Dave  became  thoughtful. 

"  Guess  that  ain't  the  only  trouble  neither," 
Dawson  went  on,  warming.  "  Strikes  is  hell-fire 
anyways.  Ther'  ain't  no  stoppin'  'em  when  they 
git  good  an'  goin'.  Ther's  folk  who'd  hate  work 
wuss'n  pizin  when  others,  of  a  different  craft,  are 
buckin'.  I  hate  strikes,  anyway,  an'  I'll  feel  a  sight 
easier  when  the  railroaders  quits." 

"  You're  alarming  yourself  without  need,"  Dave 
said  easily,  closing  his  books  and  rising  from  his 
seat.  "  Guess  I'll  get  to  supper.  And  see  you 
remember  I  look  to  you  to  shove  her.  Are  you 
posting  the  '  tally '  ?  " 

"  Sure.     They're  goin'  up  every  shift." 

A  few  minutes  later  the  foreman  took  his  de- 
parture to  hand  over  to  Simon  Odd,  who  ran  the 
mills  at  night.  Dave  watched  him  go.  Then,  in- 
stead of  going  off  to  his  supper,  he  sat  down  again. 

Dawson's  warning  was  not  without  its*  effect  on 
him,  in  spite  of  the  easy  manner  in  which  he  had 
set  it  aside.  If  his  mills  were  to  be  affected  by  the 
strike  it  would  be  the  worst  disaster  that  could 
befall — short  of  fire.  To  find  himself  with  millions 
of  feet  coming  down  the  river  on  the  drive  and  no 
possibility  of  getting  it  cut  would  mean  absolute 
ruin.  Yes,  it  was  a  nasty  thought.  A  thought  so 
unpleasant  that  he  promptly  set  it  aside  and  turned 
his  attention  to  more  pleasant  matters. 


THE  WORK  AT  THE  MILLS  89 

One  of  the  most  pleasant  that  occurred  to  him 
was  the  condition  of  things  in  the  village.  Malkern 
had  already  begun  to  boom  as  the  first  result  of  his 
sudden  burst  of  increased  work.  Outside  capital 
was  coming  in  for  town  plots,  and  several  fresh 
buildings  were  going  up.  Addlestone  Chicks,  the 
dry-goods  storekeeper,  was  extending  his  premises 
to  accommodate  the  enormous  increase  in  his 
trade.  Two  more  saloons  were  being  considered, 
both  to  be  built  by  men  from  Calford,  and  the 
railroad  had  promised  two  mails  a  day  instead  of 
one. 

Dave  thought  of  these  things  with  the  satisfaction 
of  a  man  who  is  steadily  realizing  his  ambitions.  It 
only  needed  his  success  for  prosperity  to  come 
automatically  to  the  village  in  the  valley.  That  was 
it,  his  success.  This  thought  brought  to  his  mind 
again  the  matter  of  Jim  Truscott's  mill,  and  this, 
again,  set  him  thinking  of  Jim  himself. 

He  had  seen  nothing  of  Jim  since  his  meeting 
with  him  on  the  bridge,  and  the  memory  of  that 
meeting  was  a  dark  shadow  in  his  recollection. 
Since  that  time  two  days  had  passed,  two  days  spent 
in  arduous  labor,  when  there  had  been  no  time  for 
more  than  a  passing  thought  for  anything  else. 
He  had  seen  no  one  outside  of  his  mills.  He  had 
seen  neither  Betty  nor  her  uncle ;  no  one  who 
could  tell  him  how  matters  were  going  with  the 
prodigal.  He  felt  somehow  that  he  had  been  neg- 
lectful, he  felt  that  he  had  wrongfully  allowed  him- 
self to  be  swamped  in  the  vortex  of  the  whirling 


90  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

waters  of  his  labors.  He  had  purposely  shut  out 
every  other  consideration. 

Now  his  mind  turned  upon  Betty,  and  he  sud- 
denly decided  to  take  half  an  hour's  respite  and 
visit  Harley-Smith's  saloon.  He  felt  that  this 
would  be  the  best  direction  in  which  to  seek  Jim 
Truscott.  Five  years  ago  it  would  have  been  dif- 
ferent. 

He  rose  from  his  seat  and  stretched  his  cumber- 
some body.  Young  as  he  was,  he  felt  stiff.  His 
tremendous  effort  was  making  itself  felt.  Picking 
up  his  pipe  he  lit  it,  and  as  he  dropped  the  charred 
end  of  the  match  in  the  spittoon  a  knock  came  at  the 
door.  It  opened  in  answer  to  his  call,  and  in  the 
half-light  of  the  evening  he  recognized  the  very 
man  whom  he  had  just  decided  to  seek. 

It  was  Jim  Truscott  who  stood  in  the  doorway 
peering  into  the  darkened  room.  And  at  last  his 
searching  eyes  rested  on  the  enormous  figure  of  the 
lumberman.  Dave  was  well  in  the  shadow,  and 
what  light  came  in  through  the  window  fell  full  upon 
the  newcomer's  face. 

In  the  brief  silence  he  had  a  good  look  at  him. 
He  saw  that  now  he  was  clean-shaven,  that  his  hair 
had  been  trimmed,  that  his  clothes  were  good  and 
belonged  to  the  more  civilized  conditions  of  city 
life.  He  was  good-looking  beyond  a  doubt ;  a  face, 
he  thought,  to  catch  a  young  girl's  fancy.  There 
was  something  romantic  in  the  dark  setting  of  the 
eyes,  the  keen  aquiline  nose,  the  broad  forehead. 
It  was  only  the  lower  part  of  the  face  that  he  found 


THE  WORK  AT  THE  MILLS  91 

fault  with.  There  was  that  vicious  weakness  about 
the  mouth  and  chin,  and  it  set  him  pondering. 
There  were  tiie  marks  of  dissipation  about  the  eyes 
too,  only  now  they  were  a  hundredfold  more  pro- 
nounced. Where  before  the  rounded  cheeks  had 
once  so  smoothly  sloped  away,  now  there  were 
puffings,  with  deep,  unwholesome  furrows  which,  in 
a  man  of  his  age,  had  no  right  to  be  there. 

Jim  was  the  first  to  speak,  and  his  manner  was 
almost  defiant. 

«  Well  ?  "  he  ejaculated. 

"  Well  ?  "  responded  Dave  ;  and  the  newly-opened 
waters  suddenly  froze  over  again. 

They  measured  each  other,  eye  to  eye.  Both 
had  the  memory  of  their  meeting  two  days  ago 
keenly  alive  in  their  thought.  Finally  Jim  broke 
into  a  laugh  that  sounded  harshly. 

"  After  five  years'  absence  your  cordiality  is  over- 
whelming," he  said. 

"  I  seem  to  remember  meeting  you  on  the  bridge 
two  days  ago,"  retorted  Dave. 

Then  he  turned  to  his  desk  and  lit  the  lamp. 
The  mill  siren  hooted  out  its  mournful  cry.  Its 
roar  was  deafening,  and  answered  as  an  excuse  for 
the  silence  which  remained  for  some  moments  be- 
tween the  two  men.  When  the  last  echo  had  died 
out  Truscott  spoke  again.  Evidently  he  had  availed 
himself  of  those  seconds  to  decide  on  a  more  con- 
ciliatory course. 

"  That's  nerve-racking,"  he  said  lightly. 

"  Yes,  if  your   nerves  aren't  in  the  best  condi- 


92  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

tion,"  replied  Dave.  Then  he  indicated  a  chair  and 
both  men  seated  themselves. 

Truscott  made  himself  comfortable  and  lit  a  cigar. 

"  Well,  Dave,"  he  said  pleasantly, "  after  five  years 
I  return  here  to  find  everybody  talking  of  you,  of 
your  work,  of  the  fortune  you  are  making,  of  the 
prosperity  of  the  village — which,  by  the  way,  is  cred- 
ited to  your  efforts.  You  are  the  man  of  the  mo- 
ment in  the  valley ;  you  are  it !  " 

Dave  nodded. 

"  Things  are  doing." 

"  Doing,  man !  Why,  it's  the  most  wonderful 
thing.  I  leave  a  little  dozy  village,  and  I  come 
back  to  a  town  thrilling  with  a  magnificent  prosper- 
ity, with  money  in  plenty  for  everybody,  and  on 
every  hand  talk  of  investment,  and  dreams  of  for- 
tunes to  be  made.  I'm  glad  I  came.  I'm  glad  I 
left  that  benighted  country  of  cold  and  empty 
stomachs  and  returned  to  this  veritable  Tom  Tid- 
dler's ground.  I  too  intend  to  share  in  the  pros- 
perity you  have  brought  about.  Dave,  you  are  a 
wonder." 

"  I  thought  you'd  come  to  talk  of  other  matters," 
said  Dave  quietly. 

His  words  had  ample  effect.  The  enthusiasm 
dropped  from  the  other  like  a  cloak.  His  face  lost 
its  smile,  and  his  eyes  became  watchful. 

"  You  mean " 

"  Betty,"  said  Dave  shortly. 

Truscott  stirred  uneasily.  Dave's  directness  was 
a  little  disconcerting.  Suddenly  the  latter  leant 


THE  WORK  AT  THE  MILLS  93 

forward  in  his  chair,  and  his  steady  eyes  held  his 
visitor. 

"  Five  years  ago,  Jim,  you  went  away,  and,  go- 
ing, you  left  Betty  to  my  care — for  you.  That 
child  has  always  been  in  my  thoughts,  and  though 
I've  never  had  an  opportunity  to  afford  her  the  pro- 
tection you  asked  of  me,  it  has  not  been  my  fault. 
She  has  never  once  needed  it.  You  went  away  to 
make  money  for  her,  so  that  when  you  came  back 
you  could  marry  her.  I  remember  our  meeting 
two  days  ago,  and  it's  not  my  intention  to  say  a 
thing  of  it.  I  have  been  so  busy  since  then  that  I 
have  seen  nobody  who  could  tell  me  of  either  her 
or  you,  so  I  know  nothing  of  how  your  affairs  stand. 
But  if  you've  anything  to  say  on  the  matter  now 
I'm  prepared  to  listen.  Did  you  make  good  up 
there  in  the  Yukon  ?  " 

Dave's  tone  was  the  tone  Truscott  had  always 
known.  It  was  kindly,  it  was  strong  with  honesty 
and  purpose.  He  felt  easier  for  it,  and  his  relief 
sounded  in  his  reply. 

"  I  can't  complain,"  he  said,  settling  himself  more 
comfortably  in  his  chair. 

"  I'm  glad,"  said  Dave  simply.  "  I  was  doubt- 
ful of  the  experiment,  but — well,  I'm  glad. 
And ?" 

Suddenly  Jim  sprang  to  his  feet  and  began  to 
pace  the  room.  Dave  watched  him.  He  was 
reading  him.  He  was  studying  the  nervous  move- 
ments, and  interpreting  them  as  surely  as  though 
their  meaning  were  written  large  in  the  plainest  let- 


94  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

taring.  It  was  the  same  man  he  had  known  five 
years  ago — the  same,  only  with  a  difference.  He 
beheld  the  weakness  he  had  realized  before,  but 
now,  where  there  had  been  frank  honesty  in  all  his 
movements  and  expressions,  there  was  a  furtive  un- 
dercurrent which  suggested  only  too  clearly  the 
truth  of  the  stories  told  about  him. 

"  Dave,"  he  burst  out  at  last,  coming  to  a  sudden 
stand  in  front  of  him.  "  I've  come  to  you  about 
Betty.  I've  come  to  you  to  tell  you  all  the  regret 
I  have  at  that  meeting  of  ours  on  the  bridge,  and 
all  I  said  at  the  time.  I  want  to  tell  you  that  I'm  a 
rotten  fool  and  blackguard.  That  I  haven't  been 
near  Betty  since  I  came  back.  I  was  to  have  gone 
to  tea  that  afternoon,  and  didn't  do  so  because  I 
got  blind  drunk  instead,  and  when  her  uncle  came 
to  fetch  me  I  told  him  to  go  to  hell,  and  insulted 
him  in  a  dozen  ways.  I  want  to  tell  you  that  while 
I  was  away  I  practically  forgot  Betty,  I  didn't  care 
for  her  any  longer,  that  I  scarcely  even  regarded 
our  engagement  as  serious.  I  feel  I  must  tell  you 
this.  And  now  it  is  all  changed.  I  have  seen  her 
and  I  want  her.  I  love  her  madly,  and — and  I 
have  spoiled  all  my  chances.  She'll  never  speak 
to  me  again.  I  am  a  fool  and  a  crook — an  utter 
wrong  'un,  but  I  want  her.  I  must  have  her !  " 

The  man  paused  breathlessly.  His  words  car- 
ried conviction.  His  manner  was  passion-swept 
There  could  be  no  doubt  as  to  his  sincerity,  or  of 
the  truth  of  the  momentary  remorse  conveyed  in 
his  self-accusation. 


THE  WORK  AT  THE  MILLS  95 

Dave's  teeth  shut  tight  upon  his  pipe-stem. 

"And  you  did  all  that?"  he  inquired  with  a 
tenseness  that  made  his  voice  painfully  harsh. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  did.  Dave,  you  can't  say  any 
harder  things  to  me  than  I've  said  to  myself. 
When  I  drink  there's  madness  in  my  blood  that 
drives  me  where  it  will." 

The  other  suddenly  rose  from  his  seat  and 
towered  over  him.  The  look  on  his  rugged 
face  was  one  of  mastery.  His  personality  dom- 
inated Truscott  at  that  moment  in  a  manner 
that  made  him  shrink  before  his  steady,  luminous 
eyes. 

"  How've  you  earned  your  living  ?  "  he  demanded 
sharply. 

"  I'm  a  gambler,"  came  Jim's  uneasy  reply,  the 
truth  forced  from  him  against  his  will. 

"  You're  a  drunkard  and  a  crook  ?" 

"  I'm  a  fool.     I  told  you." 

Dave  accepted  the  admission. 

"  Then  for  God's  sake  get  out  of  this  village,  and 
write  and  release  Betty  from  her  engagement. 
You  say  you  love  her.  Prove  it  by  releasing  her, 
and  be  a  man." 

Dave's  voice  rang  out  deep  with  emotion.  At 
that  moment  he  was  thinking  of  Betty,  and  not  of 
the  man  before  him.  He  was  not  there  to  judge 
him,  his  only  thought  was  of  the  tragedy  threaten- 
ing the  girl. 

Truscott  had  suddenly  become  calm,  and  his 
eyes  had  again  assumed  that  furtive  watchfulness  as 


96  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

he  looked  up  into  the  larger  man's  face.  He  shook 
his  head. 

"  I  can't  give  her  up,"  he  said  obstinately,  after  a 
pause. 

Dave  sat  down  again,  watching  the  set,  almost 
savage  expression  of  the  other's  face.  The  position 
was  difficult;  he  was  not  only  dealing  with  this 
man,  but  with  a  woman  whose  sense  of  duty  and 
honor  was  such  that  left  him  little  hope  of  settling 
the  matter  as  he  felt  it  should  be  settled.  Finally 
he  decided  to  appeal  again  to  the  man's  better  na- 
ture. 

"  Jim,"  he  said  solemnly,  "  you  come  here  and 
confess  yourself  a  crook,  and,  if  not  a  drunkard,  at 
least  a  man  with  a  bad  tendency  that  way.  You 
say  you  love  Betty,  in  spite  of  having  forgotten  her 
while  you  were  away.  On  your  conscience  I  ask 
you,  can  you  wilfully  drag  this  girl,  who  has  known 
only  the  purest,  most  innocent,  and  God-fearing 
life,  into  the  path  you  admit  you  have  been,  are 
treading?  Can  you  drag  her  down  with  you? 
Can  you  in  your  utter  selfishness  take  her  from  a 
home  where  she  is  surrounded  by  all  that  can  keep 
a  woman  pure  and  good  ?  I  don't  believe  it.  That 
is  not  the  Jim  I  used  to  know.  Jim,  take  it  from 
me,  there  is  only  one  decent  course  open  to  you, 
one  honest  one.  Leave  her  alone,  and  go  from 
here  yourself.  You  have  no  right  to  her  so  long  as 
your  life  is  what  it  is." 

"  But  my  life  is  going  to  be  that  no  longer," 
Truscott  broke  in  with  passionate  earnestness. 


THE  WORK  AT  THE  MILLS          97 

"  Dave,  help  me  out  in  this.  For  God's  sake,  do. 
It  will  be  the  making  of  me.  I  have  money  now, 
and  I  want  to  get  rid  of  the  old  life.  I,  too,  want 
to  be  decent.  I  do.  I  swear  it.  Give  me  this 
chance  to  straighten  myself.  I  know  your  influ- 
ence with  her.  You  can  get  her  to  excuse  that 
lapse.  She  will  listen  to  you.  My  God !  Dave, 
you  don't  know  how  I  love  that  girl." 

While  the  lumberman  listened  his  heart  hardened. 
He  understood  the  selfishness,  the  weakness  under- 
lying this  man's  passion.  He  understood  more 
than  that,  Betty  was  no  longer  the  child  she  was 
five  years  ago,  but  a  handsome  woman  of  perfect 
moulding.  And,  truth  to  tell,  he  felt  this  sudden 
reawakening  of  the  man's  passion  was  not  worthy 
of  the  name  of  the  love  he  claimed  for  it,  but  rather 
belonged  to  baser  inspiration.  But  his  own  feelings 
prevented  his  doing  what  he  would  like  to  have 
done.  He  felt  that  he  ought  to  kick  the  man  out 
of  his  office,  and  have  him  hunted  out  of  the  vil- 
lage. But  years  ago  he  had  given  his  promise  of 
help,  and  a  promise  was  never  a  light  thing  with 
him.  And  besides  that,  he  realized  his  own  love 
for  Betty,  and  could  not  help  fearing  that  his  judg- 
ment was  biassed  by  it.  In  the  end  he  gave  the 
answer  which  from  the  first  he  knew  he  must  give. 

"  If  you  mean  that,"  he  said  coldly,  "  I  will  do 
what  I  can  for  you." 

Jim's  face  lit,  and  he  held  out  his  hand  impul- 
sively. 

"  Thanks,   Dave,"  he  cried,  his  whole  face  clear- 


98  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

ing  and  lighting  up  as  if  by  magic.  "  You're  a 
bully  friend.  Shake  !  " 

But  the  other  ignored  the  outstretched  hand. 
Somehow  he  felt  he  could  no  longer  take  it  in 
friendship.  Truscott  saw  the  coldness  in  his  eyes, 
and  instantly  drew  his  hand  away.  He  moved 
toward  the  door. 

"  Will  you  see  her  to-night  ?  "  he  asked  over  his 
shoulder. 

"  I  can't  say.     You'll  probably  hear  from  her." 

At  the  door  the  man  turned,  and  Dave  suddenly 
recollected  something. 

"  Oh,  by  the  way,"  he  said,  still  in  his  coldest 
manner,  "  I'd  like  to  buy  that  old  mill  of  yours — or 
lease  it.  I  don't  mind  which.  How  much  do  you 
want  for  it  ?  " 

Jim  flashed  a  sharp  glance  at  him. 

"  My  old  mill  ?  "  Then  he  laughed  peculiarly. 
"  What  do  you  want  with  that?  " 

The  other  considered  for  a  moment. 

"  My  mill  hasn't  sufficient  capacity,"  he  said  at 
last.  "  You  see,  my  contract  is  urgent.  It  must  be 
completed  before  winter  shuts  down — under  an 
enormous  penalty.  We  are  getting  a  few  thousand 
a  day  behind  on  my  calculations.  Your  mill  will 
put  me  right,  with  a  margin  to  spare  against  acci- 
dents." 

"  I  see."  And  the  thoughtfulness  of  Truscott's 
manner  seemed  unnecessary.  He  avoided  Dave's 
eyes.  "  You're  under  a  penalty,  eh  ?  I  s'pose  the 
government  are  a  hard  crowd  to  deal  with  ?  " 


THE  WORK  AT  THE  MILLS          99 

Dave  nodded. 

"  If  I  fail  it  means  something  very  like— ruin,"  he 
said,  almost  as  though  speaking  to  himself. 

Truscott  whistled. 

"  Pretty  dangerous,  traveling  so  near  the  limit," 
he  said. 

«  Yes.    Well?     What  about  the  mill?  " 

"  I  must  think  it  over.     I'll  let  you  know." 

He  turned  and  left  the  office  without  another 
word,  and  Dave  stared  after  him,  speechless  with 
surprise  and  disgust. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

AT  THE  CHURCH  BAZAAR 

Two  days  later  brought  Tom  Chepstow's  church 
bazaar.  Dave  had  not  yet  had  the  opportunity  of 
interceding  with  Betty  and  her  uncle  on  behalf  of 
Jim,  but  to-day  he  meant  to  fulfil  his  obligations  as 
Tom's  chief  supporter  in  church  affairs,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  to  do  what  he  could  for  the  man  he  had 
promised  to  help. 

The  whole  morning  the  valley  was  flooded  with 
a  tremendous  summer  deluge.  It  was  just  as  though 
the  heavens  had  opened  and  emptied  their  waters 
upon  the  earth.  Dave  viewed  the  prospect  with  no 
very  friendly  eye.  He  knew  the  summer  rains  only 
too  well ;  the  possibilities  of  flood  were  well 
grounded,  and  just  now  he  had  no  desire  to  see  the 
river  rise  higher  than  it  was  at  present.  Still,  as 
yet  there  was  no  reason  for  alarm.  This  was  the 
first  rain,  and  the  glass  was  rising. 

By  noon  the  clouds  broke,  and  the  barometer's 
promise  was  fulfilled,  so  that,  by  the  time  he  had 
clad  himself  in  his  best  broadcloth,  he  left  his  office 
under  a  radiant  sky.  In  spite  of  the  wet  under  foot 
it  was  a  delight  to  be  abroad.  The  air  was  fresh 
and  sparkling ;  the  dripping  trees  seemed  to  be 
studded  with  thousands  of  diamonds  as  the  poising 
rain-drops  glistened  in  the  blazing  sun.  The  valley 


AT  THE  CHURCH  BAZAAR    101 

rang  with  the  music  of  the  birds,  and  the  health- 
giving  scent  of  the  pine  woods  was  wafted  upon  the 
gentlest  of  zephyrs.  Dave's  soul  was  in  perfect 
sympathy  with  the  beauties  about  him.  To  him 
there  could  be  no  spot  on  God's  earth  so  fair  and 
beautiful  as  this  valley. 

Passing  the  mill  on  his  way  out  of  the  yards  he 
was  met  by  Joel  Dawson,  whose  voice  greeted  him 
with  a  note  of  satisfaction  in  it. 

"  She's  goin1  full,  boss,"  he  said.  "  We  set  the 
last  saws  in  her  this  mornin'  an'  she's  steaming 
hard.  Ther'  ain't  nothin'  idle.  Ther'  ain't  a '  band ' 
or  '  gang  '  left  in  her." 

And  Dave  without  praise  expressed  his  satisfac- 
tion at  the  rapidity  with  which  his  orders  had  been 
carried  out.  This  was  his  way.  Dawson  was  an 
excellent  foreman,  and  his  respect  for  his  "  boss  " 
was  largely  based  on  the  latter 's  capacity  to  extract 
work  out  of  his  men.  While  praise  might  have 
been  pleasant  to  him,  it  would  never  have  fallen  in 
with  his  ideas  of  how  the  mills  should  be  run.  His 
pride  was  in  the  work,  and  to  keep  his  respect  at 
concert  pitch  it  was  necessary  that  he  should  feel 
that  his  "  boss  "  was  rather  favoring  him  by  entrust- 
ing to  him  the  more  important  part  of  the  work. 

Dave  passed  out  of  the  yards  certain  that  noth- 
ing would  be  neglected  in  his  absence.  If  things 
went  wrong  Dawson  would  receive  no  more  con- 
sideration than  a  common  lumber-jack,  and  Dawson 
had  no  desire  to  receive  his  "  time." 

The  Meeting  House  stood  slightly  apart  from  the 


102  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

rest  of  the  village.  It  was  a  large,  staring  frame 
building,  void  of  all  pretentiousness  and  outward 
devotional  sign.  The  weather-boarding  was  painted ; 
at  least,  it  had  been.  But  the  winter  snows  had 
long  since  robbed  it  of  its  original  terra-cotta  color- 
ing and  left  its  complexion  a  drab  neutral  tint. 
The  building  stood  bare,  with  no  encompassing 
fence,  and  its  chief  distinctive  features  were  a  large 
doorway,  a  single  row  of  windows  set  at  regular 
intervals,  and  a  pitched  roof. 

As  Dave  drew  near  he  saw  a  considerable  gather- 
ing of  men  and  horses  about  the  doorway  and  tie- 
post.  He  was  greeted  cordially  as  he  came  up. 
These  men  were  unfeignedly  glad  to  see  him,  not 
only  because  he  was  popular,  but  in  the  hopes  that 
he  would  show  more  courage  than  they  possessed, 
and  lead  the  way  within  to  the  feminine  webs  be- 
ing woven  for  their  enmeshing. 

He  chatted  for  some  moments,  then,  as  no  one 
seemed  inclined  to  leave  the  sunshine  for  the  tempt- 
ing baits  so  carefully  set  out  inside  the  building,  he 
turned  to  Jenkins  Mudley  — 

"Are  you  fellows  scared  of  going  in?"  he  in- 
quired, with  his  large  laugh. 

Jenkins  shook  his  head  shamefacedly,  while 
Harley-Smith,  loud  and  vulgar,  with  a  staring 
diamond  pin  gleaming  in  his  necktie,  answered  for 
him. 

"  'Tain't  that,"  he  said.  "  His  wife's  kind  o' 
dep'ty  for  him.  She's  in  ther'  with  his  dollars." 

"  And  you  ?  "     Dave  turned  on  him  quickly. 


AT  THE  CHURCH  BAZAAR    103 

"  Me  ?  Oh,  I  ain't  no  use  for  them  cirkises.  Too 
much  tea  an1  cake  an'  kiddies  to  it  for  me.  Give 
me  a  few  of  the  'jacks  '  around  an'  I  kind  o'  feel  it 
homely." 

"  Say,  they  ain't  got  a  table  for  <  draw  '  in  there, 
have  they  ?  "  inquired  Checks  facetiously.  "  That's 
what  Harley -Smith  needs." 

Dave  smilingly  shook  his  head. 

"  I  don't  think  there's  any  gambling  about  this — 
unless  it's  the  bran  tub.  But  that  is  scarcely  a 
gamble.  It's  a  pretty  sure  thing  you  get  bested 
over  it.  Still,  there  might  be  a  raffle,  or  an  auction. 
How  would  that  do  you,  Harley-Smith  ?  " 

The  saloon-keeper  laughed  boisterously.  He 
liked  being  the  object  of  interest ;  he  liked  being 
noticed  so  much  by  Dave.  It  tickled  his  vulgar 
vanity.  But,  to  his  disappointment,  the  talk  was 
suddenly  shifted  into  another  channel  by  Checks. 
The  dry-goods  merchant  turned  to  Dave  with  very 
real  interest. 

"  Talking  of '  draw,'  "  he  said  pointedly,  "  you 
know  that  shanty  right  opposite  me.  It's  been 
empty  this  year  an'  more.  Who  was  it  lived  there  ? 
Why,  the  Sykeses,  sure.  You  know  it,  it's  got  a 
shingle  roof,  painted  red." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  replied  Dave.  "  It  belongs  to 
me.  I  let  Sykes  live  there  because  there  wasn't 
another  house  available  at  the  time.  I  used  to 
keep  it  as  a  storehouse." 

"  Sure,  that's  it,"  exclaimed  Checks.  "  Well, 
there's  some  one  running  a  game  there  at  night. 


104          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

I've  seen  the  boys  going  in,  and  it's  been  lit  up. 
Some  guy  is  running  a  faro  bank,  or  something  of 
the  sort.  My  wife  swears  it's  young  Jim  Truscott. 
She's  seen  him  going  in  for  the  last  two  nights. 
She  says  he's  always  the  first  one  in  and  the  last  to 
leave." 

"  Psha  !  "  Jenkins  Mudley  exclaimed,  with  fine 
scorn.  "  Jim  ain't  no  gambler.  I'd  bet  it's  some 
crook  in  from  Calford.  There's  lots  of  that  kidney 
coming  around,  seeing  the  place  is  on  the  boom. 
The  bees  alljus  gets  around  wher'  the  honey's 
made." 

"  Grows,"  suggested  Checks  amiably. 

Harley-Smith  laughed  loudly. 

"  Say,  bully  for  you,"  he  cried  sarcastically. 
"Young  Jim  ain't  no  gambler?  Gee!  I've  see 
him  take  a  thousand  of  the  best  bills  out  of  the  boys 
at '  craps,1  right  there  in  my  bar.  Gambler  ?  Well, 
I'd  snigger !  " 

And  he  illustrated  his  remark  loudly  and  long. 

Dave  had  dropped  out  of  the  conversation  at  the 
mention  of  Jim  Truscott's  name.  He  felt  that  he 
had  nothing  to  say.  And  he  hoped  to  avoid  being 
again  brought  into  it.  But  Jenkins  had  purposely 
told  him.  Jenkins  was  a  rigid  churchman,  and  he 
knew  that  Dave  was  also  a  strong  supporter  of 
Parson  Tom's.  His  wife  had  been  very  scandalized 
at  the  opening  of  a  gambling  house  directly  oppo- 
site their  store,  and  he  felt  it  incumbent  upon  him 
to  fall  in  with  her  views.  Therefore  he  turned  again 
to  Dave. 


AT  THE  CHURCH  BAZAAR    105 

"  Well,  what  about  it,  Dave  ? "  he  demanded. 
"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

The  lumberman  looked  him  straight  in  the  eye 
and  smiled. 

"  Do  ?  Why,  what  all  you  fellows  seem  to  be 
scared  to  do.  I'm  going  into  this  bazaar  to  do  my 
duty  by  the  church.  I'm  going  to  hand  them  all 
my  spare  dollars,  and  if  there's  any  change  coming, 
I'll  take  it  in  dry-goods." 

But  the  lightness  of  his  tone  and  smile  had  no 
inspiration  from  his  mood.  He  was  angry ;  he  was 
disappointed.  So  this  was  the  worth  of  Jim's 
promises  !  This  was  the  man  who,  in  a  perfect 
fever  of  passion,  had  said  that  the  old  life  of  gam- 
bling and  debauchery  was  finished  for  him.  And 
yet  he  had  probably  left  his  (Dave's)  office  and  gone 
straight  to  a  night  of  heavy  gaming,  and,  if  Checks 
were  right,  running  a  faro  bank.  He  knew  only 
too  well  what  that  meant.  No  man  who  had  grad- 
uated as  a  gambler  in  such  a  region  as  the  Yukon 
was  likely  to  run  a  faro  bank  straight. 

Then  a  light  seemed  to  flash  through  his  brain, 
and  of  a  sudden  he  realized  something  that  fired 
the  blood  in  his  veins  and  set  his  pulses  hammering 
feverishly.  For  the  moment  it  set  his  thoughts 
chaotic  ;  he  could  not  realize  anything  quite  clearly. 
One  feeling  thrilled  him,  one  wild  hope.  Then, 
with  stern  self-repression,  he  took  hold  of  himself. 
This  was  neither  time  nor  place  for  such  weakness, 
he  told  himself.  He  knew  what  it  was.  For  the 
moment  he  had  let  himself  get  out  of  hand.  He 


io6  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

had  for  so  long  regarded  Betty  as  belonging  to  Jim ; 
he  had  for  so  long  shut  her  from  his  own  thoughts 
and  only  regarded  her  from  an  impersonal  point  of 
view,  that  it  had  never  occurred  to  him,  until  that 
instant,  that  there  was  a  possibility  of  her  engage- 
ment to  Jim  ever  falling  through. 

This  was  what  had  so  suddenly  stirred  him. 
Now,  actuated  by  his  sense  of  duty  and  honor,  he 
thrust  these  things  aside.  His  loyalty  to  the  girl, 
the  strength  of  his  great  love  for  her,  would  not, 
even  for  a  moment,  permit  him  to  think  of  him- 
self. Five  years  ago  he  had  said  good-bye  to  any 
hopes  and  thoughts  such  as  these.  On  that  day  he 
had  struggled  with  himself  and  won.  He  was  not 
going  to  destroy  the  effects  of  that  victory  by  any 
selfish  thought  now.  His  love  for  the  girl  was 
there,  nothing  could  alter  that.  It  would  remain 
there,  deep  down  in  his  heart,  dormant  but  living. 
But  it  was  something  more  than  a  mere  human 
passion,  it  was  something  purer,  loftier  ;  something 
that  crystallized  the  human  clay  of  his  thought  into 
the  purest  diamonds  of  unselfishness. 

In  the  few  moments  that  it  took  him  to  pass  into 
the  Meeting  House  and  launch  himself  upon  his 
task  of  furthering  the  cause  of  Tom  Chepstow's 
church,  his  mind  cleared.  He  could  not  yet  see 
the  line  of  action  he  must  take  if  the  gossip  of  Mr. 
Addlestone  Checks  were  true.  But  one  thing  was 
plain,  that  gossip  must  not  influence  him  until  its 
truth  were  established.  Just  as  he  was  seized  upon 
by  at  least  half  a  dozen  of  the  women  who  had 


AT  THE  CHURCH  BAZAAR          107 

wares  to  sell,  and  were  bent  on  morally  picking  his 
pockets,  he  had  arrived  at  his  decision. 

The  hall  was  ablaze  with  colored  stuffs.  There 
were  festoons  and  banners,  and  rosettes  and  ever- 
green. Every  bare  corner  was  somehow  con- 
cealed. There  were  drapings  of  royal  blue  and 
staring  white,  and  sufficient  bunting  to  make  a 
suit  of  flags  for  a  war-ship. 

All  the  seats  and  benches  had  been  removed,  and 
round  the  walls  had  been  erected  the  stalls  and 
booths  of  the  saleswomen.  One  end  of  the  room 
was  given  up  to  a  platform,  on  which,  in  the  even- 
ing, the  most  select  of  the  local  vocalists  would 
perform.  Beside  this  was  a  bran  tub,  where  one 
could  have  a  dip  for  fifty  cents  and  be  sure  of  win- 
ning a  prize  worth  at  least  five.  Then  there  was  a 
fortune-telling  booth  on  the  opposite  side,  presided 
over  by  a  local  beauty,  Miss  Eva  Wade,  whose 
father  was  a  small  rancher  just  outside  the  valley. 
This  institution  was  eyed  askance  by  many  of  the 
women.  They  were  not  sure  that  fortune-telling 
could  safely  be  regarded  as  strictly  moral.  Parson 
Tom  was  responsible  for  its  inception,  and  his  lean 
shoulders  were  braced  to  bear  the  consequences. 

Dave  was  by  no  means  new  to  church  bazaars. 
Any  one  living  in  a  small  western  village  must 
have  considerable  experience  of  such  things.  They 
are  a  form  of  taxation  much  in  favor,  and  serve 
multifarious  purposes.  They  are  at  once  a  pleasant 
social  function  where  young  people  can  safely  meet 
•under  the  matronly  eye ;  they  keep  all  in  close 


108  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

touch  with  religion ;  they  give  the  usually  idle 
something  to  think  of  and  work  for,  and  the  busy 
find  them  an  addition  to  their  burdens.  They 
create  a  sort  of  central  bureau  for  the  exchange  of 
scandal,  and  a  ready  market  for  trading  useless 
articles  to  people  who  do  not  desire  to  purchase, 
but  having  purchased  feel  that  the  moral  sacrifice 
they  have  made  is  at  least  one  step  in  the  right 
direction  to  make  up  for  many  backslidings  in  the 
past. 

Dave  doubtless  had  long  since  considered  all 
this.  But  he  saw  and  appreciated  the  purpose  un- 
derlying it.  He  knew  Tom  Chepstow  to  be  a 
good  man,  and  though  he  had  little  inspiration  as  a 
churchman,  he  spared  no  pains  in  his  spiritual 
labors,  and  the  larger  portion  of  his  very  limited 
stipend  went  in  unobtrusive  charity.  No  sick  bed 
ever  went  uncheered  by  his  presence,  and  no  poor 
ever  went  without  warm  clothing  and  wholesome 
food  in  the  terrible  Canadian  winter  so  long  as  he 
had  anything  to  give.  Therefore  Dave  had  come 
well  provided  with  money,  which  he  began  at  once 
to  spend  with  hopeless  prodigality. 

The  rest  of  the  men  followed  in  the  lumberman's 
wake,  and  soon  the  bustle  and  noise  waxed  furious. 
They  all  bought  indiscriminately.  Dave  started  on 
Mrs.  Checks'  "  gentlemen's  outfitters  "  stall.  His 
heart  rejoiced  when  he  sighted  a  pile  of  handker- 
chiefs which  the  lady  had  specially  made  for  him, 
and  which  she  now  thrust  at  him  with  an  exorbi- 
tant price  marked  upon  them.  He  bought  them 


AT  THE  CHURCH  BAZAAR         109 

all.  He  bought  a  number  of  shirts  he  could  not 
possibly  have  worn.  He  bought  underclothing 
that  wouldn't  have  been  a  circumstance  on  his 
cumbersome  figure.  He  passed  on  to  Louisa 
Mudley's  millinery  stall  and  bought  several  hats, 
which  he  promptly  shed  upon  the  various  women 
in  his  vicinity.  He  did  his  duty  royally,  and 
bought  dozens  of  things  which  he  promptly  gave 
away.  And  his  attentions  in  this  matter  were 
quite  impartial.  He  did  it  with  the  air  of  some 
great  good-natured  schoolboy  that  set  everybody 
delighted  with  him,  with  themselves,  with  every- 
thing ;  and  the  bazaar,  as  a  result,  went  with  a 
royal,  prosperous  swing.  Here,  as  in  his  work,  his 
personality  carried  with  it  the  magic  of  success. 

At  last  he  reached  Betty's  stall.  She  was  presid- 
ing over  a  hideous  collection  of  cheap  bric-a-brac. 
With  her  usual  unselfishness  and  desire  to  promote 
harmony  amongst  the  workers,  and  so  help  the 
success  of  the  bazaar,  she  had  sacrificed  herself  on 
the  altar  of  duty  by  taking  charge  of  the  most  un- 
popular stall.  Nobody  wanted  the  goods  she  had 
to  sell;  consequently  Dave  found  her  deserted. 
She  smiled  up  at  him  a  little  pathetically  as  he 
came  over  to  her. 

"Are  you  coming  as  a  friend  or  as  a  customer? 
Most  of  the  visits  I  have  received  have  been  purely 
friendly."  She  laughed,  but  Dave  could  see  that 
the  natural  spirit  of  rivalry  was  stirred,  and  she  was 
a  little  unhappy  at  the  rush  of  business  going  on 
everywhere  but  at  her  stall. 


1 10          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

"  I  come  as  both,"  he  said,  with  that  air  of  frank 
kindliness  so  peculiarly  his  own. 

The  girl's  eyes  brightened. 

"  Then  let's  get  to  work  on  the  customer  part  of 
your  visit  first,"  she  said  at  once ;  "  the  other  can 
wait.  Now  here  I  have  a  nice  plate.  You  can 
hang  it  in  your  office  on  the  wall.  You  see  it's 
already  wired.  It  might  pass  for  old  Worcester  if 
you  don't  let  in  too  much  light.  But  there,  you 
never  have  your  windows  washed,  do  you  ?  Then 
I  have,"  she  hurried  on,  turning  to  other  articles, 
"this.  This  is  a  shell — at  least  I  suppose  it  is," 
she  added  naively.  "  And  this  is  a  Toby  jug;  and 
this  is  a  pipe-rack ;  this  is  for  matches;  this  is  for  a 
whisk  brush  ;  and  these  two  vases,  they're  real  fine. 
Look  at  them.  Did  you  ever  see  such  colors  ? 
No,  and  I  don't  suppose  anybody  else  ever  did." 
She  laughed,  and  Dave  joined  in  her  laugh. 

But  her  laugh  suddenly  died  out.  The  man 
heard  a  woman,  only  a  few  feet  away,  mention  Jim 
Truscott's  name,  and  he  knew  that  Betty  had  heard 
it  too.  He  knew  that  her  smiling  chatter,  which 
had  seemed  so  gay,  so  irresponsible,  had  all  been 
pretense,  a  pretense  which  had  suddenly  been 
swept  aside  at  the  mere  mention  of  Jim's  name. 
At  that  moment  he  felt  he  could  have  taken  the 
man  up  in  his  two  strong  hands  and  strangled  him. 
However,  he  allowed  his  feelings  no  display,  but  at 
once  took  up  the  challenge  of  the  saleswoman. 

"  Say,  Betty,  there's  just  one  thing  in  the  world 
I'm  crazy  about :  it's  bits  of  pots  and  things  such  as 


AT  THE  CHURCH  BAZAAR         in 

you've  got  on  your  stall.  It  seems  like  fate  you 
should  be  running  this  stall.  Now  just  get  right  to 
it,  and  fetch  out  some  tickets — a  heap  of  'em — and 
write  '  sold '  on  'em,  and  dump  'em  on  all  you  like. 
How  much  for  the  lot  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Dave  ?  "  the  girl  cried,  her 
eyes  wide  and  questioning. 

"  How  much?  I  don't  want  anybody  else  buy- 
ing those  things,"  Dave  said  seriously.  "  I  want 
'em  all." 

Betty's  eyes  softened  almost  to  tears. 

"  I  can't  let  you  do  it,  Dave,"  she  said  gently. 
"  Not  all.  Some." 

But  the  man  was  not  to  be  turned  from  his  purpose. 

"  I  want  'em  all,"  he  said  doggedly.  "  Here. 
Here's  two  hundred  dollars.  That'll  cover  it."  He 
laid  four  bills  of  fifty  dollars  each  on  the  stall. 
"  There,"  he  added,  "  you  can  sell  'em  over  again 
if  any  of  the  boys  want  to  buy." 

Betty  was  not  sure  which  she  wanted  to  do,  cry 
or  laugh.  However,  she  finally  decided  on  the  lat- 
ter course.  Dave's  simple  contradiction  was  quite 
too  much  for  her. 

"  You're  the  most  refreshing  old  simpleton  I  ever 
knew,"  she  said.  "  But  I'll  take  your  money — for 
the  church,"  she  added,  as  though  endeavoring  to 
quiet  her  conscience. 

Dave  sighed  in  relief. 

"  Well,  that's  that.  Now  we  come  to  the  friendly 
side  of  my  visit,"  he  said.  "  I've  got  a  heap  to  say 
to  you.  Jim  Truscott's  been  to  me." 


112  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

He  made  his  statement  simply,  and  waited.  But 
no  comment  was  forthcoming.  Betty  was  stooping 
over  a  box,  collecting  cards  to  place  on  the  articles 
on  her  stall.  Presently  she  looked  up,  and  her  look 
was  an  invitation  for  him  to  go  on. 

The  man's  task  was  not  easy.  It  would  have 
been  easy  enough  had  he  not  spoken  with  Checks 
outside,  but  now  it  was  all  different.  He  had 
promised  his  help,  but  in  giving  it  he  had  no  clear 
conscience. 

He  propped  himself  against  the  side-post  of  her 
stall,  and  his  weight  set  the  structure  shaking 
perilously. 

"  I've  often  wondered,  Betty,"  he  said,  in  a  rum- 
bling, confidential  tone,  "  if  there  ever  was  a  man, 
or  for  that  matter  a  woman,  who  really  understood 
human  nature.  We  all  think  we  know  a  lot  about 
it.  We  size  up  a  man,  and  we  reckon  he's  good, 
bad,  or  indifferent,  and  if  our  estimate  happens  to 
prove,  we  pat  ourselves,  and  hold  our  heads  a  shade 
higher,  and  feel  sorry  for  those  who  can't  read  a 
man  as  easy  as  we  can." 

Betty  nodded  while  she  stuck  some  "  Sold  "  cards 
about  her  stall. 

"  A  locomotive's  a  great  proposition,  so  long  as 
it's  on  a  set  track.  It's  an  all-fired  nuisance  with- 
out. GUQSS  a  locomotive  can  do  everything  it 
shouldn't  when  it  gets  loose  of  its  track.  My  word, 
I'd  hate  to  be  around  with  a  loco,  up  to  its  fool- 
tricks,  running  loose  in  a  city.  Seems  to  me  that's 
how  it  is  with  human  nature." 


AT  THE  CHURCH  BAZAAR    113 

Betty's  brown  eyes  were  thoughtfully  contem- 
plating the  man's  ugly  features. 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  we  all  need  a  track  to  run 
on?" 

"  Why,  yes,"  Dave  went  on,  brightening. 
"  Some  of  us  start  out  in  life  with  a  ready-made 
track,  with  '  points '  we  can  jump  if  we've  a  notion. 
Some  of  us  have  a  track  without '  points,'  so  there's 
no  excuse  for  getting  off  it.  Some  of  us  have  to 
lay  down  our  own  track,  and  keep  right  on  it,  building 
it  as  we  go.  That's  the  hardest.  We're  bound  to 
have  some  falls.  You  see  there's  so  much  ballast- 
ing needed,  the  ground's  so  mighty  bumpy.  I  seem 
to  know  a  deal  about  that  sort  of  track.  I've  had 
to  build  mine,  and  I've  fallen  plenty.  Sometimes 
it's  been  hard  picking  myself  up,  and  I've  been 
bruised  and  sore  often.  Still,  I've  got  up,  and  I 
don't  seem  no  worse  for  falling." 

Betty's  eyes  were  smiling  softly. 

"  But  you  picked  yourself  up,  Dave,  didn't  you  ?  " 
she  asked  gently. 

"  Well — not  always.  You  see,  I've  got  a  mother. 
She's  helped  a  whole  heap.  You  see,  she's  mostly 
all  my  world,  and  I  used  to  hate  to  hurt  her  by  let- 
ting her  see  me  down.  She  kind  of  thinks  I'm  the 
greatest  proposition  ever,  and  it  tickles  my  vanity. 
I  want  her  to  go  on  thinking  it,  as  it  keeps  me  hard  at 
work  building  that  track.  And  now,  through  her, 
I've  been  building  so  long  that  it  comes  easier,  and 
thinking  of  her  makes  me  hang  on  so  tight  I  don't 
get  falling  around  now.  There's  other  fellows 


H4  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

haven't  got  a  mother,  or — you  see,  I've  always  had 
her  with  me.  That's  where  it  comes  in.  Now,  if 
she'd  been  away  from  me  five  years,  when  I  was 
very  young  ;  you  see " 

Dave  broke  off  clumsily.  He  was  floundering  in 
rough  water.  He  knew  what  he  wanted  to  say,  but 
words  were  not  too  easy  to  him. 

"  Poor  Jim  !  "  murmured  Betty  softly. 

Dave's  eyes  were  on  her  in  a  moment.  Her 
manner  was  somehow  different  from  what  he  had 
expected.  There  was  sympathy  and  womanly 

tenderness  in  her  voice  ;  but  he  had  expected 

Then  his  thoughts  went  back  to  the  time  when 
they  had  spoken  of  Jim  on  the  bridge.  And, 
without  knowing  why,  his  pulses  quickened,  and 
a  warmth  of  feeling  swept  over  him. 

"  Poor  Jim !"  he  said,  after  a  long  pause,  during 
which  his  pulses  had  steadied  and  he  had  become 
master  of  his  feelings  again.  "  He's  fallen  a  lot, 
and  I'm  not  sure  it's  all  his  fault.  He  always  ran 
straight  when  he  was  here.  He  was  very  young  to 
go  away  to  a  place  like  the  Yukon.  Maybe — 
maybe  you  could  pick  him  up  ;  maybe  you  could 
hold  him  to  that  track,  same  as  mother  did  for  me  ?  " 

Betty  was  close  beside  him.  She  had  moved 
out  of  her  stall  and  was  now  looking  up  into  his 
earnest  face. 

"  Does  he  want  me  to  ?  "  she  asked  wistfully. 
"  Do  you  think  I  can  help  him?" 

The  man's  hands  clenched  tightly.  For  a  mo- 
ment he  struggled. 


AT  THE  CHURCH  BAZAAR    115 

"  You  can,"  he  said  at  last.  "  He  wants  you  ; 
he  wants  your  help.  He  loves  you  so,  he's  neany 
crazy." 

The  girl  gazed  up  at  him  with  eyes  whose  ques- 
tion the  man  tried  but  failed  to  read.  It  was  some 
seconds  before  her  lips  opened  to  speak  again. 

But  her  words  never  came.  At  that  moment 
Addlestone  Checks  hurried  up  to  them.  He  drew 
Dave  sharply  on  one  side.  His  manner  was  mys- 
terious and  important,  and  his  face  wore  a  look  of 
outraged  piety. 

"  Something's  got  to  be  done,"  he  said  in  a  stage 
whisper.  "  It's  the  most  outrageous  thing  I've 
seen  in  years.  Right  here — right  here  in  the  house 
where  the  parson  preaches  the  Word !  It  sure 
is  enough  to  set  it  shakin'  to  its  foundation. 
Drunk!  That's  what  he  is — roarin',  flamin', 
fightin'  drunk  !  You  must  do  something.  It's  up 
to  you." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  Who  is  drunk  ?  "  cried 
Dave,  annoyed  at  the  man's  Pharisaical  air. 

Before  he  could  get  a  reply  there  was  a  commo- 
tion at  the  far  end  of  the  bazaar.  Voices  were 
raised  furiously,  and  everybody  had  flocked  in  that 
direction.  Once  Dave  thought  he  heard  Chep- 
stow's  voice  raised  in  protest.  Betty  ran  to  his  side 
directly  the  tumult  began. 

"  Oh,  Dave,  what's  the  matter  down  there  ?  I 
thought  I  heard  Jim's  voice  ?  " 

"  So  you  did,  Miss  Betty,"  cried  Checks,  with  sanc- 
timonious spleen.  "  So  you  did — the  drunken " 


Ii6          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

"  Shut  up,  or  I'll  break  your  neck ! "  cried  Dave, 
threatening  him  furiously. 

The  dry-goods  dealer  staggered  back  just  as 
Betty's  hand  was  gently,  but  firmly,  laid  on  Dave's 
upraised  arm. 

"  Don't  bother,  Dave,"  she  said  piteously.  "  I've 
seen  him.  Oh,  Jim — Jim ! "  And  she  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands. 


CHAPTER  IX 
IN  DAVE'S  OFFICE 

IT  was  the  day  after  the  bazaar.  Betty  had  just 
returned  home  from  her  school  for  midday  dinner. 
She  was  sitting  at  the  open  window,  waiting  while 
her  aunt  set  the  meal.  The  cool  green  of  the  wild- 
cucumbers  covering  the  veranda  tempered  the 
blistering  summer  heat  which  oppressed  the  valley. 
The  girl  was  looking  out  upon  the  village  below 
her,  at  the  woodland  slopes  opposite,  at  the  distant 
narrowing  of  the  mighty  walls  which  bounded  her 
world,  but  she  saw  none  of  these  things.  She  saw 
nothing  of  the  beauty,  the  gracious  foliage,  the 
wonderful  sunlight  she  loved.  Her  gaze  was  in- 
trospective. She  saw  only  the  pictures  her  thoughts 
conjured  up. 

They  were  not  pleasant  pictures  either,  but  they 
were  absorbing.  She  knew  that  she  had  arrived  at 
a  crisis  in  her  life.  The  scene  she  had  witnessed  at 
the  bazaar  was  still  burning  in  her  brain.  The 
shame  stung  and  revolted  her.  The  horror  of  it  was 
sickening.  Jim's  disgrace  was  complete;  yet,  in 
spite  of  it,  she  could  not  help  remembering  Dave's 
appeal  for  him. 

He  had  said  that  Jim  needed  her  more  than  ever 
now,  and  the  thought  made  her  uneasy,  and  her 


Ii8          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

tender  heart  urged  her  in  a  direction  she  knew  she 
must  not  take.  It  was  so  easy  for  her  to  condemn,, 
she  who  knew  nothing  of  temptation.  And  yet  her 
position  was  so  utterly  impossible.  Jim  had  been 
in  the  village  all  this  time  and  had  not  been  near 
her,  that  is  except  on  this  one  occasion,  when  he 
was  drunk.  He  was  evidently  afraid  to  come  near 
her.  He  was  a  coward,  and  she  hated  cowards. 

He  had  even  persuaded  Dave  to  intercede  for 
him.  She  smiled  as  she  thought  of  it.  But  her 
smile  was  for  Dave,  and  not  at  the  other's  display  of 
cowardice.  It  was  not  a  smile  of  amusement  either. 
She  only  smiled  at  the  absurdity  of  Dave  pleading 
for  one  whom  he  knew  to  be  wholly  unworthy.  It 
was  the  man's  large  heart,  she  told  herself.  And 
almost  in  the  same  breath  she  found  herself  resent- 
ing his  kindly  interference,  and  wishing  he  would 
mind  his  own  business.  Why  should  he  be  always 
thinking  of  others  ?  Why  should  he  not  think 
sometimes  of  himself? 

Her  dreaming  now  became  of  Dave  alone,  and 
she  found  herself  reviewing  his  life  as  she  knew  it. 
Her  eyes  grew  tender,  and  she  basked  in  the  sun- 
light of  a  world  changed  to  pleasant  thought.  His 
ugliness  no  longer  troubled  her — she  no  longer  saw 
it.  She  saw  only  the  spirit  inside  the  man,  and 
somehow  his  roughnesses  of  voice,  manner  and 
appearance  seemed  a  wholly  fitting  accompaniment 
to  it.  Her  thoughts  of  Jim  had  gone  from  her 
entirely.  The  crisis  which  she  was  facing  bad 
receded  into  the  shadows.  Dave  became  her 


IN  DAVE'S  OFFICE  119 

dominant  thought,  and  she  started  when  her  uncle's 
voice  suddenly  broke  in  upon  her  reverie. 

"  Betty,"  he  said,  coming  up  behind  her  and 
laying  one  lean  hand  upon  her  rounded  shoulder, 
"  I  haven't  had  time  to  speak  to  you  about  it  since 
the  bazaar,  but  now  I  want  to  tell  you  that  you  can 
have  nothing  more  to  do  with  young  Truscott.  He 
is  a  thorough-paced  young  scoundrel  and " 

"  You  need  say  no  more,  uncle,"  the  girl  broke  in 
bitterly.  "  You  can  tell  me  nothing  I  do  not 
already  know  of  him." 

"  Then  I  trust  you  will  send  him  about  his 
business  at  once,"  added  her  aunt,  who  had  entered 
the  room  bearing  the  dinner  joint  on  a  tray,  just  in 
time  to  hear  Betty's  reply. 

Betty  looked  at  her  aunt's  round,  good-natured 
face.  For  once  it  was  cold  and  angry.  From  her 
she  looked  up  at  her  uncle's,  and  the  decision  she 
saw  in  his  frank  eyes  left  her  no  alternative  but  a 
direct  reply. 

"  I  intend  to  settle  everything  this  afternoon,"  she 
said  simply. 

"  In  what  way  ?  "  inquired  her  uncle  sharply. 

Betty  rose  from  her  seat  and  crossed  the  room  to 
her  aunt's  side.  The  latter,  having  set  the  dinner, 
was  waiting  beside  her  chair  ready  to  sit  down  as 
soon  as  the  matter  should  be  settled.  Betty  placed 
her  arm  about  her  stout  waist,  and  the  elder 
woman's  face  promptly  relaxed.  She  could  never 
long  keep  up  even  a  pretense  of  severity  where 
Betty  was  concerned. 


120          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

The  girl  promptly  addressed  herself  to  her  uncle 
with  all  the  frankness  of  one  assured  of  a  sympathetic 
hearing. 

"  You  have  always  taught  me,  uncle  dear,  that 
duty  must  be  my  first  consideration  in  life,"  she 
began  steadily.  "  I  have  tried  to  live  up  to  that, 
and  it  has  possibly  made  my  conscience  a  little 
over  keen."  Her  face  clouded,  but  the  clouds 
broke  immediately,  chased  away  by  a  plaintive  smile. 
"  When  Jim  asked  me  to  marry  him  five  years  ago  I 
believed  I  loved  him.  At  one  time  I'm  sure  I  did, 
in  a  silly,  girlish  fashion.  But  soon  after  he  went 
away  I  realized  that  a  girlish  infatuation  is  not  real 
love.  This  knowledge  I  tried  to  hide  even  from 
myself.  I  would  not  believe  it,  and  for  a  long  time 
I  almost  managed  to  convince  myself.  That 
was  until  Jim's  letters  became  fewer  and  colder. 
With  his  change  I  no  longer  attempted  to  conceal 
from  myself  the  real  state  of  my  own  feelings.  But 
even  then  my  conscience  wouldn't  let  me  alone. 
I  had  promised  to  wait  for  him,  and  I  made  up  my 
mind  that,  come  what  might,  unless  he  made  it  im- 
possible I  would  marry  him."  She  sighed.  "  Well, 
you  know  the  rest.  He  has  now  made  it  impossible. 
What  his  real  feelings  are  for  me,"  she  went  on  with 
a  pathetic  smile,  "  I  have  not  had  an  opportunity 
of  gauging.  As  you  know,  he  has  not  been  near 
me.  I  shall  now  make  it  my  business  to  see  him 
this  afternoon  and  settle  everything.  My  con- 
science isn't  by  any  means  easy  about  it,  but  I  intend 
to  give  him  up." 


IN  DAVE'S  OFFICE  121 

Her  aunt  squeezed  her  arm  sympathetically,  and 
her  uncle  nodded  his  approval. 

"  Where  are  you  going  to  see  him?"  the  latter 
asked.  "  You  mustn't  see  him  alone."  Then  he 
burst  out  wrathfully,  "  He's  a  blackguard,  and " 

"  No,  no,  uncle,  don't  say  that,"  Betty  inter- 
rupted him.  "  Surely  he  is  to  be  pitied.  Remem- 
ber him  as  he  was.  You  cannot  tell  what  tempta- 
tions have  come  his  way." 

The  parson's  face  cleared  at  once.  His  angry 
outbursts  were  always  short-lived. 

"  I'm  sorry,  Betty,"  he  said.  "  My  dear,  you 
shame  me.  I'm  afraid  that  my  hasty  temper  is 
always  leading  to  my  undoing  as  a  churchman." 
The  half-humorous  smile  which  accompanied  his 
words  passed  swiftly.  "  Where  are  you  going  to 
see  him  ?  "  he  again  demanded. 

"  Down  at  Dave's  office,"  the  girl  replied,  after  a 
moment's  thought. 

"  Eh  ? "  Her  uncle  was  startled ;  but  Mary 
Chepstow  smiled  on  her  encouragingly. 

"  Yes,  you  see,"  she  went  on,  "  Dave  had  a  good 
deal  to  do  with — our  engagement — in  a  way, 
and " 

"  I'm  glad  Dave  is  going  to  help  you  through 
this  business,"  said  her  aunt,  with  a  glance  which 
effectually  kept  her  husband  silent.  "  He's  a  dear 
fellow,  and — let's  have  our  dinner — it's  nearly  cold." 

Aunt  Mary  was  not  brilliant,  she  was  not  med- 
dlesome, but  she  had  all  a  woman's  intuition.  She 
felt  that  enough  had  been  said.  And  for  some 


122  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

obscure  reason  she  was  glad  that  Dave  was  to  have 
a  hand  in  this  matter.  Nor  had  her  satisfaction 
anything  to  do  with  the  man's  ability  to  protect 
her  niece  from  possible  insult. 

That  afternoon  Dave  received  an  unexpected 
visit.  He  was  alone  in  his  office,  clad  for  hard 
work,  without  coat,  waistcoat,  collar  or  tie.  He 
had  no  scruples  in  these  matters.  With  all  an 
American's  love  of  freedom  he  abandoned  himself 
to  all  he  undertook  with  a  whole-heartedness  which 
could  not  tolerate  even  the  restraint  of  what  he 
considered  unnecessary  clothing.  And  just  now,  in 
the  terrific  heat,  all  these  things  were  superfluous. 

Betty  looked  particularly  charming  as  she  hur- 
ried across  the  lumber-yard.  She  was  dressed  in  a 
spotless  white  cotton  frock,  and,  under  her  large 
sun-hat,  her  brown  hair  shone  in  the  sunlight  like 
burnished  copper.  Without  the  least  hesitation 
she  approached  the  office  and  knocked  peremp- 
torily on  the  door. 

The  man  inside  grudgingly  answered  the  sum- 
mons. His  books  were  occupying  all  his  attention, 
and  his  thoughts  were  filled  with  columns  of 
figures.  But  the  moment  he  beheld  the  white, 
smiling  vision  the  last  of  his  figures  fled  precipi- 
tately from  his  mind. 

"  Why,  come  right  in,  little  Betty,"  he  cried, 
hastily  setting  the  only  available  chair  for  her. 
Then  he  bethought  himself  of  his  attire.  "  Say, 
you  might  have  let  me  know.  Just  half  a  minute 
and  I'll  fix  myself  up." 


IN  DAVE'S  OFFICE  123 

But  the  girl  instantly  protested.  "  You'll  do  just 
as  you  are,"  she  exclaimed.  "  Now  you  look  like 
a  lumberman.  And  I  like  you  best  that  way." 

Dave  grinned  and  sat  down  a  little  self-con- 
sciously. But  Betty  had  no  idea  of  letting  any 
conventionalities  interfere  with  the  matter  she  had 
in  hand.  She  was  always  direct,  always  single- 
minded,  when  her  decision  was  taken.  She  gave 
him  no  time  to  speculate  as  to  the  object  of  her 
visit. 

"  Dave,"  she  began  seriously,  "  I  want  you  to  do 
me  a  great  favor."  Then  she  smiled.  "  As  usual," 
she  added.  "  I  want  you  to  send  for  Jim  Truscott 
and  bring  him  here." 

Dave  was  on  his  feet  in  an  instant  and  crossed  to 
the  door.  The  next  moment  his  voice  roared  out 
to  one  of  his  foremen.  It  was  a  shout  that  could 
have  been  heard  across  his  own  milling  floor  with 
every  saw  shrieking  on  the  top  of  its  work. 

He  waited,  and  presently  Simon  Odd  came 
hurrying  across  the  yard.  He  spoke  to  him  out- 
side, and  then  returned  to  the  office. 

"  He'll  be  along  in  a  few  minutes,"  he  said. 
"  I've  sent  Odd  with  the  buckboard." 

"  Are  you  sure  he'll  come  ?  " 

Dave  smiled  confidently. 

"  I  told  Odd  to  bring  him." 

"  I  hope  he'll  come  willingly,"  the  girl  said,  after 
a  thoughtful  pause. 

"  So  do  I,"  observed  ^ve  dryly.  «  Well,  little 
girl  ?  " 


124  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

Betty  understood  the  inquiry,  and  looked  him 
fearlessly  in  the  eyes. 

"  You  sowed  your  wheat  on  barren  soil,  Dave," 
she  said  decidedly.  "  Your  appeal  for  Jim  has 
borne  no  fruit." 

The  man  shifted  his  position.  It  was  the  only 
sign  he  gave.  But  the  fires  were  stirred  into  a 
sudden  blaze,  and  his  blood  ran  fiercely  through  his 
veins. 

"  That's  not  a  heap  like  you,  Betty,"  was  all  he 
said. 

"  Isn't  it  ? "  The  girl  turned  to  the  window. 
The  dirt  on  the  glass  made  it  difficult  for  her  to  see 
out  of  it,  but  she  gazed  at  it  steadily. 

"  I  suppose  you'll  think  me  a  mean,  heartless 
creature,"  she  said  slowly.  "You'll  think  little 
enough  of  my  promises,  and  still  less  of — of  my 
loyalty."  She  paused.  Then  she  raised  her  head 
and  turned  to  him  again.  "  I  cannot  marry  Jim. 
I  cannot  undertake  his  reformation.  I  cannot  give 
up  my  life  to  a  man  whom  I  now  know  I  never 
really  loved.  I  know  you  will  not  understand.  I 
know,  only  too  well,  your  own  lofty  spirit,  your  ab- 
solute unselfishness.  I  know  that  had  you  been  in 
my  place  you  would  have  fulfilled  your  promise  at 
any  cost.  But  I  can't.  I  simply  can't." 

"  No." 

It  was  the  man's  only  comment.  But  his  mind 
was  busy.  He  knew  Betty  so  well  that  he  under- 
stood a  great  deal  without  asking  questions. 

"Aunt  Mary  and  uncle  know  my  decision,"  the 


IN  DAVE'S  OFFICE  125 

girl  went  on.  "  They  know  I  am  here,  and  that  I 
am  going  to  see  Jim  in  your  presence.  You  see,  I 
thought  if  I  sent  for  him  to  come  to  our  house  he 
might  refuse.  He  might  insult  uncle  again.  I 
thought,  somehow,  it  would  be  different  with  you." 

Dave  nodded. 

"  I  don't  blame  your  uncle  and  aunt  for  making 
you  give  him  up,"  he  said.  "  I'd  have  done  it  in 
their  place." 

"  Yet  you  appealed  for  him  ?  " 

Betty's  eyes  questioned  him. 

"  Sure,  I  promised  to  help  him.  That  was  before 
the  bazaar." 

Suddenly  Betty  held  out  her  hands  with  a  little 
appealing  movement.  Dave  wanted  to  seize  them 
and  crush  them  in  his  own,  but  he  did  not  stir. 

"  Tell  me  you  don't  think  badly  of  me.  Tell  me 
you  do  not  think  me  a  heartless,  wretched  woman. 
I  have  thought  and  thought,  and  prayed  for  guid- 
ance. And  now  it  seems  to  me  I  am  a  thoroughly 
wicked  girl.  But  I  cannot — I  must  not  marry 
him." 

The  man  rose  abruptly  from  his  seat.  He  could 
no  longer  look  into  her  troubled  eyes  and  keep  his 
own  secret.  When  he  spoke  it  was  with  his  back 
to  her,  as  he  made  a  pretense  of  filling  his  pipe  at 
the  tobacco  jar  on  the  table.  His  voice  was  deep 
with  emotion. 

"  I  thank  God  you've  decided,"  he  said. 
"  You've  done  right  by  everybody.  And  you've 
shown  more  courage  refusing  him  than  if  you'd 


126          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

gone  through  with  your  promise,  because  you've 
done  it  against  your  conscience.  No,  little  Betty," 
he  went  on,  turning  to  her  again  with  infinite  kind- 
ness in  his  steady  eyes,  "  there's  no  one  can  call 
you  heartless,  or  any  other  cruel  name — and — 
and  they'd  better  not  in  my  hearing,"  he  finished 
up  clumsily. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  rattle  of  buckboard 
wheels  sounded  outside,  and  before  Betty  could  re- 
ply Dave  took  the  opportunity  of  going  to  the  door. 
Jim  Truscott  was  standing  outside  with  the  gigantic 
Simon  Odd  close  behind  him,  much  in  the  manner 
of  a  warder  watching  his  prisoner.  The  flicker  of  a 
smile  came  and  went  in  the  lumberman's  eyes  at 
the  sight.  Then  his  attention  was  held  by  the 
anger  he  saw  in  Jim's  dissipated  face.  He  was  not 
a  pleasant  sight.  His  eyes  were  heavy  and  blood- 
shot, and  the  lines  about  them  were  accentuated  by 
his  general  unwashed  appearance.  Even  at  that 
distance,  as  they  stood  there  facing  each  other,  he 
caught  the  reek  of  stale  brandy  the  man  exhaled. 
His  clothes,  too,  had  the  appearance  of  having 
been  flung  on  hurriedly,  and  the  shirt  and  collar  he 
wore  were  plainly  filthy.  Altogether  he  was  an  ob- 
ject for  pity,  and  at  the  same  time  it  was  not  possible 
to  feel  anything  for  him  but  a  profound  repugnance. 

"  He  was  abed,"  said  the  giant  Odd,  the  mo- 
ment Dave  appeared.  Then  with  a  complacent 
grin,  "  But  he  guessed  he'd  come  right  along  when 
I  told  him  you  was  kind  o'  busy  an'  needed  him 
important." 


IN  DAVE'S  OFFICE  127 

But  Jim's  angry  face  flamed. 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort.  This  damned  ruffian  of 
yours  dragged  me  out,  blast  him." 

"  Cut  it !  "  Dave  warned  him  sharply.  "  There's 
a  lady  here  to  see  you.  Come  right  in." 

The  warning  had  instant  effect.  Truscott  stepped 
into  the  room  and  stood  face  to  face  with  Betty. 
Dave  closed  the  door  and  stood  aside.  For  a  few 
intense  moments  no  word  was  spoken.  The  man 
stared  stupidly  into  the  girl's  unsmiling  face  ;  then 
he  looked  across  at  Dave.  It  was  Betty  who  finally 
broke  the  silence. 

"  Well,  Jim,"  she  said  kindly,  "  at  last  we  meet." 
She  noted  all  the  signs  of  dissipation  in  the  young 
face,  which,  but  a  few  years  ago,  had  been  so  fresh 
and  clean  and  good-looking.  Now  it  was  so  different, 
and,  to  her  woman's  eyes,  there  was  more  than  the 
mere  outward  signs.  There  was  a  spirit  looking 
out  of  his  bloodshot  eyes  that  she  did  not  recognize. 
It  was  as  though  the  soul  of  the  man  had  changed  ; 
it  had  degenerated  to  a  lower  grade.  There  was 
something  unwholesome  in  his  expression,  as 
though  some  latent  brutality  had  been  stirred  into 
life,  and  had  obliterated  every  vestige  of  that  clean, 
boyish  spirit  that  had  once  been  his. 

"  And,"  she  went  on,  as  he  remained  silent, "  you 
had  to  be  cajoled  into  coming  to  see  me." 

Still  the  man  did  not  speak.  Whether  it  was 
shame  that  held  him  silent  it  was  impossible  to  tell. 
Probably  not,  for  there  was  a  steadily  growing  light 
in  his  eyes  that  suggested  thoughts  of  anything  but 


128  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

of  a  moral  tone.  He  was  held  by  her  beauty — he 
was  held  as  a  man  is  sometimes  held  by  some  ravish- 
ing vision  that  appeals  to  his  lower  senses.  He  lost 
no  detail  of  her  perfect  woman's  figure,  the  seductive 
contours  so  wonderfully  moulded.  His  eyes  drank 
in  the  sight,  and  it  set  his  blood  afire. 

Dave  never  turned  his  eyes.  He  too  was  watch- 
ing. And  he  understood,  and  resented,  the  storm 
that  was  lashing  through  the  man's  veins. 

41  Have  you  nothing  to  say  to  me  after  these  long 
years  ?  "  the  girl  asked  again,  forced  to  break  the 
desperate  silence.  Then  the  woman  in  her  found 
voice,  "  Oh !  Jim,  Jim  !  the  pity  of  it.  And  I 
thought  you  so  strong." 

Dave  clenched  his  hands  at  his  sides,  but  made 
no  other  movement.  Then  Betty's  manner  sud- 
denly changed.  All  the  warmth  died  out  of  her 
voice,  and,  mistress  of  herself  again,  she  went 
straight  to  her  object. 

44  Jim,  it  was  I  who  sent  for  you.  I  asked  Dave  to 
do  this  for  me." 

44  A  word  from  you  would  have  been  enough," 
the  man  said,  with  a  sudden  fire  that  lost  nothing 
of  its  fierce  passion  in  the  hoarse  tone  in  which  he 
spoke. 

"  A  word  from  me  ? "  There  was  unconscious 
irony  in  the  girl's  reply. 

44  Yes,  a  word.  I  know.  You  are  thinking  of 
when  your  uncle  came  to  me ;  you're  thinking  of 
our  first  meeting  on  the  bridge ;  you're  thinking  of 
yesterday.  I  was  drunk.  I  admit  it.  But  I'm  not 


IN  DAVE'S  OFFICE  129 

always  drunk.  I  tell  you  a  word  from  you  would 
have  been  enough." 

The  girl's  eyes  reproached  him. 

"  A  word  from  me,  after  five  years'  absence  ?  It 
seems  to  me  you  should  not  have  needed  a  word 
from  me.  Jim,  had  you  come  to  me,  whatever 
your  state,  poor  or  rich,  it  would  have  made  no 
difference  to  me.  I  should  have  met  you  as  we 
parted,  ready  to  fulfil  my  pledge." 

"  You  mean " 

The  man's  bloodshot  eyes  were  alight.  A  tre- 
mendous passion  was  urging  him  to  the  limits  of 
his  restraining  powers.  He  had  almost  forgotten 
where  he  was.  He  had  quite  forgotten  Dave.  The 
sight  of  this  woman  with  her  beautiful  figure,  her 
sweet  face  and  serious  eyes,  almost  maddened  him. 
He  was  from  the  wilds,  where  he  had  long  since 
buried  his  wholesome  youthful  ideals.  The  life  he 
had  lived  had  entirely  deadened  all  lofty  thought. 
He  only  saw  with  a  brain  debased  to  the  level  of 
the  animal.  He  desired  her.  He  madly  desired 
her  now  that  he  had  seen  her  again,  and  he  realized 
that  his  desire  was  about  to  be  thwarted. 

Betty  drew  back  a  step.  The  movement  was 
unconscious.  It  was  the  woman's  instinct  at  the 
sight  of  something  threatening  which  made  her  draw 
away  from  the  passion  she  saw  blazing  in  his  eyes. 
Dave  silently  watched  the  man. 

"  I  mean,"  said  the  girl  solemnly,  "  that  you  have 
made  our  pledge  impossible.  I  mean,"  she  went 
on,  with  quiet  dignity,  "  that  I  cannot  marry  you 


ISO          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

now,  even  if  you  wish  it.  No,  no,"  as  Jim  made  a 
sudden  movement  to  speak,  "  it  is  quite  useless  to 
discuss  the  matter  further.  I  insisted  on  this  meet- 
ing to  settle  the  matter  beyond  question.  Dave 
here  witnessed  our  engagement,  and  I  wished  him 
to  witness  its  termination.  You  will  be  better  free, 
and  so  shall  I.  There  could  have  been  no  happi- 
ness in  a  marriage  between  us " 

"  But  I  won't  give  you  up,"  the  man  suddenly 
broke  out.  He  had  passed  the  narrow  limits  of  his 
restraint.  His  face  flushed  and  showed  blotched  in 
the  sudden  scarlet.  For  a  second,  after  that  first 
fiery  outburst,  no  words  came.  Then  the  torrent 
flowed  forth.  "  Is  this  what  I  went  away  for  ?  Is 
this  what  I  have  slaved  for  in  the  wilds  of  the 
Yukon  ?  Is  this  what  I  am  to  find  now  that  I  have 
made  the  money  you  desired  ?  No,  no,  you  can't 
get  rid  of  me  like  that ;  you  don't  mean  it,  you 
can't  mean  it.  Betty,  I  want  you  more  than  any- 
thing on  earth,"  he  rushed  on,  his  voice  dropping  to 
a  persuasive  note.  "  I  want  you,  and  without  you 
life  is  nothing  to  me.  I  must  have  you  ! "  He 
took  a  step  forward.  But  it  was  only  a  step,  for 
the  girl's  steady  eyes  held  him,  and  checked  his 
further  advance.  And  something  in  her  attitude 
turned  his  mood  to  one  of  fierce  protest.  "  What 
is  it  that  has  come  between  us  ?  What  is  it  that 
has  changed  you  ?  " 

Betty  snatched  at  his  pause. 

"Such  questions  come  well  from  you,  Jim,"  she 
said,  with  some  bitterness.  "  You  know  the  truth. 


IN  DAVE'S  OFFICE  131 

You  do  not  need  me  to  tell  you."  Her  tone  sud- 
denly let  the  demon  in  the  man  loose.  His  passion- 
lit  eyes  lowered,  and  a  furtive,  sinister  light  shone 
in  them  when  he  lifted  them  again. 

"  I  know.  I  understand,"  he  cried.  "  This  is  an 
excuse,  and  it  serves  you  well."  The  coldness  of 
his  voice  was  in  painful  contrast  to  his  recent  pas- 
sion. "  The  old  story,  eh  ?  You  have  found  some 
one  else.  I  never  thought  much  of  a  woman's 
promise,  anyhow.  I  wonder  who  it  is."  Then 
with  a  sudden  vehemence.  "  But  you  shan't  marry 
him.  Do  you  hear?  You  shan't  while  I  am " 

"Quit  it!" 

Dave's  great  voice  suddenly  filled  the  room  and 
cut  the  man's  threats  short. 

Jim  turned  on  him  in  a  flash  ;  until  that  moment 
he  had  entirely  forgotten  the  lumberman.  He  eyed 
the  giant  for  a  second.  Then  he  laughed  cynic- 
ally. 

"  Oh,  I'd  forgotten  you.  Of  course,"  he  went 
on.  "  I  see  now.  I  never  thought  of  it  before.  I 
remember,  you  were  on  the  bridge  together  when  I 
first " 

Dave  had  taken  a  couple  of  strides  and  now  stood 
between  the  two.  His  movement  silenced  the  man, 
while  he  addressed  himself  to  Betty. 

"  You're  finished  with  him  ?  "  he  inquired  in  a 
deep,  harsh  voice. 

There  was  something  so  compelling  about  him 
that  Betty  simply  nodded.  Instantly  he  swung 
round  on  the  younger  man. 


132  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

"  You'll  vacate  this  place — quick,"  he  said  delib- 
erately. 

The  two  men  eyed  each  other  for  some  seconds. 
Truscott's  look  meant  mischief,  Dave's  was  calmly 
determined.  The  latter  finally  stepped  aside  and 
crossing  to  the  door  held  it  open. 

"  I  said  you'll — vacate,"  he  said  sharply. 

Truscott  turned  and  glanced  at  the  open  door. 
Then  he  glanced  at  Betty,  who  had  drawn  farther 
away.  Finally  his  frigid  eyes  turned  upon  Dave's 
great  figure  standing  at  the  door.  For  an  instant 
a  wicked  smile  played  round  his  lips,  and  he  spoke 
in  the  same  cynical  tone. 

"  I  never  thought  of  you  in  the  marriage  market, 
Dave,"  he  said,  with  a  vicious  laugh.  "  I  suppose 
it's  only  natural.  Nobody  ever  associated  you 
with  marriage.  Somehow  your  manner  and  ap. 
pearance  don't  suggest  it.  I  seem  to  see  you  han- 
dling lumber  all  your  life,  not  dandling  children  on 
your  knee.  But  there,  you're  a  good  catch — a 
mighty  good  one.  And  I  was  fool  enough  to  trust 
you  with  my  cause.  Ye  gods  !  Well,  your  weight 
of  money  has  done  it,  no  doubt.  I  congratulate 
you.  She  has  lied  to  me,  and  no  doubt  she  will 
lie " 

But  the  man,  if  he  finished  his  remark  at  all,  must 
have  done  so  to  the  stacks  of  lumber  in  the  yards, 
and  to  the  accompaniment  of  the  shriek  of  the 
saws.  There  was  no  fuss.  Scarcely  any  struggle. 
Dave  moved  with  cat-like  swiftness,  which  in  a  man 
of  his  size  was  quite  miraculous,  and  in  a  flash  Jim 


IN  DAVE'S  OFFICE  133 

Truscott  was  sprawling  on  the  hard  red  ground  on 
the  other  side  of  the  doorway. 

And  when  Dave  looked  round  at  Betty  the  girl's 
face  was  covered  with  her  hands,  and  she  was  weep- 
ing. He  stood  for  a  second  all  contrition,  and 
clumsily  fumbling  for  words.  He  believed  she  was 
distressed  at  his  brutal  action. 

"  I'm  sorry,  little  Betty,"  he  blurted  out  at  last. 
"  I'm  real  sorry.  But  I  just  couldn't  help  it" 


CHAPTER  X 

AN   AUSPICIOUS   MEETING 

MALKERN  as  a  village  had  two  moments  in  the 
day  when  it  wore  the  appearance  of  a  thoroughly 
busy  city.  At  all  other  times  there  was  little  out- 
ward sign  to  tell  of  the  prosperity  it  really  enjoyed. 
Malkern's  really  bustling  time  was  at  noon,  when 
its  workers  took  an  hour  and  a  half  recess  for  the 
midday  meal,  and  at  six  o'clock  in  the  evening, 
when  the  day  and  night  "  shifts  "  at  the  mill  ex- 
changed places. 

There  was  no  eight-hour  working  day  in  this 
lumbering  village.  The  lumber-jacks  and  all  the 
people  associated  with  it  worked  to  make  money, 
not  to  earn  a  mere  living.  They  had  not  reached 
that  deplorable  condition  of  social  pessimism  when 
the  worker  for  a  wage  believes  he  is  the  man  who 
is  making  millions  for  an  employer,  who  is  prosper- 
ing only  by  his,  the  worker's,  capacity  to  do.  They 
were  working  each  for  himself,  and  regarded  the 
man  who  could  afford  them  such  opportunity  as  an 
undisguised  blessing.  The  longer  the  "  time  "  the 
higher  the  wages,  and  this  was  their  whole  scheme 
of  life. 

Besides  this,  there  is  a  certain  pride  of  achieve- 
ment in  the  lumber-jack.  He  is  not  a  mere  au* 


AN  AUSPICIOUS  MEETING          135 

tomaton.  He  is  a  man  virile,  strong,  and  of  a  won- 
derful independence  all  his  own.  His  spirits  are 
animal,  keen  of  perception,  keen  for  all  the  joys  of 
life  such  as  he  knows.  He  lives  his  life,  whether  in 
play  or  work.  Whether  he  be  a  sealer,  a  cant- 
hook  man,  a  teamster,  or  an  axeman,  his  pride  is  in 
his  skill,  and  the  rating  of  his  skill  is  estimated 
largely  by  the  tally  of  his  day's  work,  on  which 
depends  the  proportion  of  his  wages. 

It  was  the  midday  dinner-hour  now,  and  the 
mill  was  debouching  its  rough  tide  of  workers  upon 
the  main  street.  Harley-Smith's  bar  was  full  of 
men  seeking  unnecessary  "  appetizers."  Every 
boarding-house  was  rapidly  filling  with  hungry 
men  clamoring  for  the  ample,  even  luxurious  meal 
awaiting  them.  These  men  lived  well ;  their  work 
was  tremendous,  and  food  of  the  best,  and  ample, 
was  needed  to  keep  them  fit.  The  few  stores 
which  the  village  boasted  were  full  of  eager  pur- 
chasers demanding  instant  service  lest  the  precious 
time  be  lost. 

Harley-Smith's  hotel  abutted  on  the  main  road, 
and  the  tide  had  to  pass  its  inviting  portals  on  their 
way  to  the  village.  Usually  the  veranda  was 
empty  at  this  time,  for  the  regular  boarders  were  at 
dinner,  and  the  bar  claimed  those  who  were  not  yet 
dining.  But  on  this  occasion  it  possessed  a  solitary 
occupant. 

He  was  sitting  on  a  hard  Windsor  chair,  tilted 
back  at  a  dangerous  angle,  with  his  feet  propped 
upon  the  veranda  rail  in  an  attitude  of  ease,  if  not 


136  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

of  elegance.  He  was  apparently  quite  uncon- 
cerned at  anything  going  on  about  him.  His 
broad-brimmed  hat  was  tilted  well  forward  upon 
his  nose,  in  a  manner  that  served  the  dual  purpose 
of  shading  his  eyes  from  the  dazzling  sunlight,  and 
permitting  his  gaze  to  wander  whither  he  pleased 
without  the  observation  of  the  passers-by.  To 
give  a  further  suggestion  of  indolent  indifference, 
he  was  luxuriously  smoking  one  of  Harley-Smith's 
best  cigars. 

But  the  man's  attitude  was  a  pretense.  No  one 
passed  the  veranda  who  escaped  the  vigilance  of 
his  quick  eyes.  He  scanned  each  face  sharply,  and 
passed  on  to  the  next;  nor  did  his  watchfulness 
relax  for  one  instant.  It  was  clear  he  was  looking 
for  some  one  whom  he  expected  would  pass  that 
way,  and  it  was  equally  evident  he  had  no  desire  to 
advertise  the  fact. 

Suddenly  he  pushed  his  hat  back  from  his  face, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  his  feet  dropped  to  the 
boarded  floor.  This  brought  his  chair  on  its  four 
legs  with  a  jolt,  and  he  sat  bolt  upright.  Now  he 
showed  the  bloated  young  face  of  Jim  Truscott. 
There  was  a  look  in  his  eyes  of  something  ap- 
proaching venomous  satisfaction.  He  had  seen  the 
man  he  was  looking  for,  and  promptly  beckoned  to 
him. 

Dick  Mansell  was  passing  at  that  moment,  and 
his  small,  ferret-like  eyes  caught  the  summons. 
He  hesitated,  nor  did  he  come  at  once  in  response 
to  the  other's  smile  of  good-fellowship. 


AN  AUSPICIOUS  MEETING          137 

"  Dick!"  Truscott  said.  Then  he  added  genially, 
"  I  was  wondering  if  you'd  come  along  this 
way." 

Mansell  nodded  indifferently.  His  face  was  ill- 
humored,  and  his  small  eyes  had  little  friendliness 
in  them.  He  nodded,  and  was  about  to  pass  on, 
but  the  other  stayed  him  with  a  gesture. 

"  Don't  go,"  he  said.  "  I  want  to  speak  to  you. 
Come  up  to  my  room  and  have  a  drink." 

He  kept  his  voice  low,  but  he  might  have  saved 
himself  the  trouble.  The  passing  crowd  were  far 
too  intent  upon  their  own  concerns  to  bother  with 
him.  The  fact  was  his  attitude  was  the  result  of 
nearly  forty-eight  hours  of  hard  thinking,  thinking 
inspired  by  a  weak  character  goaded  to  offense  by 
the  rough  but  justifiable  treatment  meted  out  to 
him  in  Dave's  office.  This  man's  character,  at  no 
time  robust,  was  now  morally  run-down,  and  its 
condition  was  like  the  weakly  body  of  an  un- 
healthy man.  It  collected  to  itself  every  injurious 
germ  and  left  him  diseased.  His  brain  and  nerves 
were  thrilling  with  resentment,  and  a  desire  to  get 
even  with  the  "  board."  He  was  furiously  deter- 
mined that  Dave  should  remember  with  regret  the 
moment  he  had  laid  hands  upon  him,  and  that  he 
had  come  between  him  and  the  girl  he  had  in- 
tended to  make  his  own. 

Mansell,  stepping  on  to  the  veranda,  paused  and 
looked  the  other  full  in  the  eye. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's  doubtful  con- 
sideration, "  what  is  it  ?  Tain't  like  you  givin' 


138          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

drink  away — 'specially  to  me.  What  monkey 
tricks  is  it  ?  " 

There  was  truculence  in  the  sawyer's  tone. 
There  was  offense  in  his  very  attitude. 

"  Are  you  coming  to  my  room  for  that  drink  ?  " 

Truscott  spoke  quite  coldly,  but  he  knew  the 
curse  of  the  man's  thirst.  He  had  reason  to. 

Mansell  laughed  without  any  mirth. 

"  Guess  I  may  as  well  drink  your  brandy.  It'll 
taste  the  same  as  any  other.  Go  ahead." 

His  host  at  once  led  the  way  into  the  hotel  and 
up  the  stairs  to  his  room.  It  was  a  front  room  on 
the  first  floor,  and  comparatively  luxurious.  The 
moment  the  door  closed  behind  him  Mansell  took 
in  the  details  with  some  interest. 

"  A  mighty  swell  apartment — fer  you,"  he  ob- 
served offensively. 

Truscott  shrugged  as  he  turned  his  back  to  pour 
out  drinks  at  the  table. 

"  That's  my  business,"  he  said.  "  I  pay  for  it, 
and,"  he  added,  glancing  meaningly  over  his 
shoulder,  "  I  can  afford  to  pay  for  it — or  anything 
else  I  choose  to  have." 

Mansell  was  a  fine  figure  of  a  man,  and  beside 
him  the  other  looked  slight,  even  weedy.  But  his 
face  and  head  spoiled  him.  Both  were  small  and 
mean,  and  gave  the  impression  of  a  low  order  of 
intelligence.  Yet  he  was  reputed  one  of  the  finest 
sawyers  in  the  valley,  and  a  man,  when  not  on  the 
drink,  to  be  thoroughly  trusted.  Before  he  went 
away  to  the  Yukon  with  Jim  he  had  been  a  teeto- 


AN  AUSPICIOUS  MEETING          139 

taler  for  two  years,  and  on  that  account,  and  his 
unrivaled  powers  as  a  sawyer,  he  had  acted  as  the 
other's  foreman  in  his  early  lumbering  enterprise. 
Except,  however,  for  those  two  years  his  past  had 
in  it  far  more  shadows  than  light. 

He  grinned  unpleasantly. 

"  No  need  to  ast  how  you  came  by  the  stuff,"  he 
said. 

Truscott  was  round  on  him  in  an  instant.  His 
eyes  shone  wickedly,  but  there  was  a  grin  about  his 
lips. 

"  The  same  way  you  tried  to  come  by  it  too,  only 
you  couldn't  keep  your  damned  head  clear.  You 
couldn't  let  this  stuff  alone."  He  handed  the  man 
a  glass  of  neat  brandy.  "  You  and  your  cursed 
drink  nearly  ruined  my  chances.  It  wasn't  your 
fault  you  didn't.  When  I  ran  that  game  up  in 
Dawson  I  was  a  fool  to  take  you  into  it.  I  did  it 
out  of  decency,  because  you  had  gone  up  there 
with  me,  and  quite  against  my  best  judgment 
when  I  saw  the  way  you  were  drinking.  If  you'd 
kept  straight  you'd  be  in  the  same  position  as  I  am. 
You  wouldn't  have  returned  here  more  or  less  broke 
and  only  too  ready  to  set  rotten  yarns  going  around 
about  me." 

The  sawyer  had  taken  the  brandy  and  swallowed 
it.  Now  he  set  the  glass  down  on  the  table  with  a 
vicious  bang. 

"  What  yarns  ?  "  he  demanded  angrily. 

"  Tchah !  Hardwig's  a  meddling  busybody. 
You  might  have  known  it  would  come  back  to  me 


140  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

sooner  or  later.  But  I  didn't  bring  you  here  to 
throw  these  things  up  in  your  face.  You  brought 
it  on  yourself.  Keep  a  civil  tongue,  and  if  you  like 
to  stand  in  I'll  put  you  into  a  good  thing.  You're 
not  working?  And  you've  got  no  money?" 

Truscott's  questions  came  sharply.  His  plans 
were  clear  in  his  mind.  These  points  he  had  made 
sure  of  already.  But  he  wanted  to  approach  the 
matter  he  had  in  hand  in  what  he  considered  the 
best  way  in  dealing  with  a  man  like  Mansell.  He 
knew  the  sawyer  to  have  scruples  of  a  kind,  that  is 
until  they  had  been  carefully  undermined  by  brandy. 
It  was  his  purpose  to  undermine  them  now. 

"  You  seem  to  know  a  heap,"  Mansell  observed 
sarcastically.  Then  he  became  a  shade  more  in- 
terested. "  What's  the  '  good  thing '  ?  " 

Jim  poured  some  brandy  out  for  himself,  at  the 
same  time,  as  though  unconsciously,  replenishing 
the  other's  glass  liberally.  The  sawyer  watched  him 
while  he  waited  for  a  reply,  and  suddenly  a  thought 
occurred  to  his  none  too  ready  brain. 

"  Drink,  eh  ?  "  he  laughed  mockingly,  as  though 
answering  a  challenge  on  the  subject.  "  Drink  ? 
Say,  who's  been  doing  the  drink  since  you  got 
back  ?  Folks  says  as  your  gal  has  gone  right  back 
on  you,  that  ther'  wench  as  you  was  a-sparkin'  'fore 
we  lit  out.  An'  it's  clear  along  of  liquor.  They 
say  you're  soused  most  ev'ry  might,  an'  most  days 
too.  You  should  git  gassin1 — I  don't  think." 

The  man's  mean  face  was  alight  with  brutish  glee. 
He  felt  he  had  handed  the  other  a  pretty  retort. 


AN  AUSPICIOUS  MEETING          141 

And  in  his  satisfaction  he  snatched  up  his  glass  and 
drank  off  its  contents  at  a  gulp.  Indifferent  to  the 
gibe,  Jim  smiled  his  satisfaction  as  he  watched  the 
other  drain  his  glass. 

"  You've  got  no  work  ?  "  he  demanded,  as  Mansell 
set  it  down  empty. 

"  Sure  I  ain't,"  the  other  grinned.  "  An',"  he 
added,  under  the  warming  influence  of  the  spirit, 
"  I  ain't  worritin'  a  heap  neither.  My  credit's  good 
with  the  boardin'-house  boss.  Y'  see,"  he  went  on, 
his  pride  of  craft  in  his  gimlet  eyes,  "  I'm  kind  o' 
known  here  for  a  boss  sawyer.  When  they  want 
sawyers  there's  allus  work  for  Dick  Mansell." 

"  Your  credit's  good  ? "  Truscott  went  on,  ignor- 
ing the  man's  boasting.  "  Then  you  have  no 
money  ?  " 

"  I  allows  the  market's  kind  o'  low." 

Mansell's  mood  had  become  one  of  clumsy 
jocularity  under  the  influence  of  the  brandy. 

"  If  you  can  get  work  so  easily,  why  don't  you  ?  " 
Truscott  demanded,  filling  the  two  glasses  again  as 
he  spoke. 

Mansell  seated  himself  on  the  bed  unbidden. 

"  Wai,"  he  began  expansively, "  I'm  kind  o'  holi- 
day-makin',  as  they  say.  Y'  see,"  he  went  on  with 
a  leer,  "  I  worked  so  a'mighty  hard  gittin'  back 
from  the  Yukon,  I'm  kind  o'  fatigued.  Savee? 
Guess  I'll  git  to  work  later.  Say,  one  o'  them  for 
me  ?  "  he  finished  up,  pointing  at  the  glasses. 

Truscott  nodded,  and  Mansell  helped  himself 
greedily. 


142          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

The  former  fell  in  with  the  other's  mood.  He 
found  him  very  easy  to  deal  with.  It  was  just  a 
question  of  sufficient  drink. 

"  Well,  I  don't  believe  in  work,  anyway.  That 
is  unless  it  happens  to  be  my  pleasure,  too.  I 
worked  hard  up  at  Dawson,  but  it  was  my  pleasure. 
I  made  good  money,  too— a  hell  of  a  sight  more 
than  you  or  a  iybody  else  ever  had  any  idea  of." 

"  You  ran  a  dandy  game,"  agreed  the  sawyer. 

"  With  plent/  of  customers  with  mighty  fat  rolls 
of  money." 

Mansell  nodded. 

"  I  was  a  fool  to  quit  you,"  he  said  regretfully. 

"  You  were.  But  it  isn't  too  late.  If  you  aren't 
yearning  to  work  too  hard." 

Truscott's  smile  was  crafty.  And,  even  with  the 
drink  in  him,  Mansell  saw  and  understood  it. 

"  Monkey  tricks  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Monkey  tricks — if  you  like." 

Mansell  looked  over  at  the  bottle. 

"  Hand  us  another  horn  of  that  pizen  an'  I'll 
listen,"  he  said. 

The  other  poured  out  the  brandy  readily,  taking 
care  to  be  more  than  liberal.  He  watched  the  saw- 
yer drink,  and  then,  drawing  a  chair  forward,  he  sat 
down. 

"  What's  that  old  mill  of  mine  worth  ?  "  he  asked 
suddenly. 

They  exchanged  glances  silently.  Truscott  was 
watching  the  effect  of  his  question,  and  the  other 
was  trying  to  fathom  the  meaning  of  it. 


AN  AUSPICIOUS  MEETING          143 

"  I'd  say,"  Mansell  replied  slowly,  giving  up  the 
puzzle  and  waiting  for  enlightenment — "  I'd  say,  to  a 
man  who  needs  it  bad,  it's  worth  anything  over 
fifteen  thousand  dollars.  Fer  scrappin',  I'd  say  it 
warn't  worth  but  fi'  thousand." 

"  I  was  thinking  of  a  man  needing  it." 

"  Fifteen  thousand  an'  over." 

Truscott  leant  forward  in  his  chair  and  became 
confidential. 

"  Dave  wants  to  buy  that  mill,  and  I'm  going  to 
sell  it  to  him,"  he  said  impressively.  "  I'll  take 
twenty  thousand  for  it,  and  get  as  much  more  as  I 
can.  See?  Now  I  don't  want  that  money.  I 
wouldn't  care  to  handle  his  money.  I've  got  plenty, 
and  the  means  of  making  heaps  more  if  I  need  it." 

He  paused  to  let  his  words  sink  in.  Mansell 
nodded  with  his  eyes  on  the  brandy  bottle.  As 
yet  he  did  not  see  the  man's  drift.  He  did  not  see 
where  he  came  in.  He  waited,  and  Truscott  went  on. 

"  Now  what  would  you  be  willing  to  do  for  that 
twenty  thousand — or  more  ?  "  he  asked  smilingly. 

The  other  turned  his  head  with  a  start,  and,  for 
one  fleeting  second,  his  beady  eyes  searched  his 
companion's  face.  He  saw  nothing  there  but  quiet 
good-nature.  It  was  the  face  of  the  old  Jim  Trus- 
cott— used  to  hide  the  poisoned  mind  behind  it. 

"  Give  me  a  drink,"  Mansell  demanded  roughly. 
"  This  needs  some  thinkin'." 

Truscott  handed  him  the  bottle,  and  watched  him 
while  he  drank  nearly  half  a  tumbler  of  the  raw 
spirit 


144          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

«  Well  ?  " 

Mansell  breathed  heavily. 

"  Seems  to  me  I'd  do — a  heap,"  he  said  at  last 

"  Would  you  take  a  job  as  sawyer  in  Dave's  mill, 
and — and  act  under  my  orders  ?  " 

"  It  kind  o'  depends  on  the  orders."  For  some 
reason  the  lumberman  became  cautious.  The  price 
was  high — almost  too  high  for  him. 

Truscott  suddenly  rose  from  his  seat,  and  cross- 
ing the  room,  turned  the  key  in  the  door.  Then 
he  closed  the  window  carefully.  He  finally  glanced 
round  the  room,  and  came  back  to  his  seat.  Then, 
leaning  forward  and  lowering  his  tone,  he  detailed 
carefully  all  that  the  lumberman  would  have  to  do 
to  earn  the  money.  It  took  some  time  in  the  tell- 
ing, but  at  last  he  sat  back  with  a  callous  laugh. 

"  That's  all  it  is,  Dick,  my  boy,"  he  cried  famil- 
iarly. "  You  will  be  as  safe  as  houses.  Not  only 
that,  but  I  may  not  need  your  help  at  all.  I  have 
other  plans  which  are  even  better,  and  which  may 
do  the  job  without  your  help.  See  ?  This  is  only 
in  case  it  is  necessary.  You  see  I  don't  want  to 
leave  anything  to  chance.  I  want  to  be  ready. 
And  I  want  no  after  consequences.  You  understand? 
You  may  get  the  money  for  doing  nothing.  On  the 
other  hand,  what  you  have  to  do  entails  little 
enough  risk.  The  price  is  high,  simply  because  I 
do  not  want  the  money,  and  I  want  to  be  sure  I  can 
rely  on  you." 

The  man's  plausibility  impressed  the  none  too 
bright-witted  lumberman.  Then,  too,  the  brandy 


AN  AUSPICIOUS  MEETING          145 

had  done  its  work.  His  last  scruple  fled,  banished 
by  his  innate  crookedness,  set  afire  by  the  spirit  and 
the  dazzling  bait  held  out  to  him.  It  was  a  case  of 
the  clever  rascal  dominating  the  less  dangerous,  but 
more  brutal,  type  of  man.  Mansell  was  as  potter's 
clay  in  this  man's  hands.  The  clay  dry  would  have 
been  impossible  to  mould,  but  moistened,  the  artist 
in  villainy  had  no  difficulty  in  handling  it.  And  the 
lubricating  process  had  been  liberally  supplied. 

"  I'm  on,"  Mansell  said,  his  small  eyes  twinkling 
viciously.  "  I'm  on  sure.  Twenty  thousand ! 
Gee !  But  I'll  need  it  all,  Jim,"  he  added  greed- 
ily. "  I'll  need  it  all,  and  any  more  you  git.  You 
said  it  yourself,  I  was  to  git  the  lot.  Yes,"  as 
though  reassuring  himself,  "  I'm  on." 

Truscott  nodded  approvingly. 

"  Good  boy,"  he  said  pleasantly.  "  But  there's 
one  thing  more,  Dick.  I  make  it  a  proviso  you 
don't  go  on  any  teetotal  racket.  I  know  you. 
Anyway,  I  don't  believe  in  the  water  wagon  worth 
a  cent.  It  don't  suit  you  in  work  like  this.  But 
don't  get  drunk  and  act  foolish.  Keep  on  the  edge. 
See  ?  Get  through  this  racket  right,  and  you've 
got  a  small  pile  that'll  fill  your  belly  up  like  a  dis- 
tillery— after.  You'll  get  the  stuff  in  a  bundle  the 
moment  you've  done  the  work." 

Mansell  reached  out  for  the  bottle  without  invita- 
tion, picked  it  up,  and  put  the  neck  to  his  lips. 
Nor  did  he  put  it  down  till  he  had  drained  it.  It 
was  the  culminating  point.  The  spirit  had  done 
its  work,  and  as  Truscott  watched  him  he  knew 


146  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

that,  body  and  soul,  the  man  was  his.  The  lumber- 
man flung  the  empty  bottle  on  the  bed. 

"  I'll  do  it,  you  damned  crook,"  he  cried.  "  I'll 
do  it,  but  not  because  I  like  you,  or  anything  to  do 
with  you.  It's  the  bills  I  need  sure — green,  crisp, 
crinkly  bills.  But  I'll  need  fifty  of  'em  now. 
Hand  over,  pard,"  he  cried  exultingly.  "  Hand 
over,  you  imp  of  hell.  I  want  fifty  now,  or  I  don't 
stir  a  hand.  Hand  'em " 

Suddenly  the  man  staggered  back  and  fell  on  the 
bed,  staring  stupidly  at  the  shining  silver-plated  re- 
volver in  the  other's  hands. 

"  Hold  your  noise,  you  drunken  hog,"  Jim  cried 
in  a  biting  tone.  "  This  is  the  sort  of  thing  I  sup- 
pose I  can  expect  from  a  blasted  fool  like  you. 
Now  understand  this,  I'm  going  to  give  you  that 
fifty,  not  because  you  demand  it,  but  to  seal  our 
compact.  And  by  the  Holy  Moses,  when  you've 
handled  it,  if  you  attempt  to  play  any  game  on  me, 
I'll  blow  you  to  hell  quicker  than  any  through  mail 
could  carry  you  there.  Get  that,  and  let  it  sink  into 
your  fool  brain." 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   SUMMER    RAINS 

TRUSCOTT  looked  up  from  his  paper  and  watched 
the  rain  as  it  hissed  against  the  window.  It  was 
falling  in  a  deluge,  driven  by  a  gale  of  wind  which 
swept  the  woodlands  as  though  bent  on  crushing 
out  the  last  dignity  of  the  proud  forest  giants. 
The  sky  was  leaden,  and  held  out  no  promise  of 
relenting.  It  was  a  dreary  prospect,  yet  to  the 
man  watching  it  was  a  matter  of  small  moment. 

It  was  nearly  midday,  and  as  yet  he  had  not 
broken  his  fast.  In  fact  his  day  was  only  just 
beginning.  His  appearance  told  plainly  the  story 
of  his  previous  night's  dissipation.  Still,  his  mood 
was  in  no  way  depressed — he  was  too  well  seasoned 
to  the  vicious  life  he  had  adopted  for  that.  Be- 
sides, the  prosperity  of  Malkern  brought  much  grist 
to  his  mill,  and  its  quality  more  than  made  up  for 
the  after  effects  of  his  excesses. 

He  turned  to  his  paper  again.  It  was  a  day  old. 
A  large  head-line  faced  him  announcing  the  spread- 
ing of  the  railway  strike.  Below  it  was  a  column 
describing  how  business  was  already  affected,  and 
how,  shortly,  if  a  settlement  were  not  soon  arrived 
at,  it  was  feared  that  the  trans-continental  traffic 
could  only  be  kept  open  with  the  aid  of  military 
engineers.  The  rest  of  the  paper  held  no  interests 


148  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

for  him ;  he  had  only  read  this  column,  and  it 
seemed  to  afford  him  food  for  much  thought.  He 
had  read  it  over  twice,  and  was  now  reading  it  for 
a  third  time. 

At  last  he  threw  the  paper  aside  and  walked 
across  to  the  table  to  pour  himself  out  a  drink. 
The  thought  of  food  sickened  him.  The  only 
thing  possible  was  a  whiskey-and-milk,  and  he 
mixed  the  beverage  and  held  it  to  his  lips.  But 
the  smell  of  it  sickened  him,  and  he  set  it  down 
and  moved  away  to  the  window. 

There  was  little  enough  to  attract  him  thither, 
but  he  preferred  the  prospect  to  the  sight  and  smell 
of  whiskey  at  that  hour  of  the  day.  After  some 
moments  he  made  another  attempt  on  his  liquid 
breakfast.  He  knew  he  must  get  it  down  some- 
how. He  turned  and  looked  at  it,  shuddered,  and 
turned  again  to  the  window.  And  at  that  instant 
he  recognized  the  great  figure  of  Dave,  clad  from 
head  to  foot  in  oilskins,  making  his  way  back  from 
the  depot  to  the  mill. 

The  sight  fixed  his  attention,  and  all  the  venom 
in  his  distorted  nature  shone  in  the  wicked  gleam 
that  sprang  into  his  eyes.  His  blood  was  fired 
with  hatred. 

"  Betty  for  you  ?  Never  in  your  life,"  he  mut- 
tered at  the  passing  figure.  "  Never  in  mine,  Dave, 
my  boy.  It's  you  and  me  for  it,  and  by  God  I'll 
never  let  up  on  you  ! " 

All  unconscious  of  the  venomous  thoughts  the 
sight  of  him  had  inspired,  Dave  strode  on  through 


THE  SUMMER  RAINS  149 

the  rain.  He  was  deep  in  his  own  concerns,  and  at 
that  moment  they  were  none  too  pleasant.  The 
deluge  of  rain  damped  his  spirits  enough,  but  the 
mail  he  had  just  received  had  brought  him  news 
that  depressed  him  still  more.  The  Engineers' 
Union  had  called  for  a  general  cessation  of  work 
east  of  Winnipeg,  and  he  was  wondering  how  it 
was  likely  to  affect  him.  Should  his  engineers  go 
out,  would  it  be  possible  to  replace  them  ?  And  if 
he  could,  how  would  he  be  able  to  cope  with  the 
trouble  likely  to  ensue  ?  He  could  certainly  fall  in 
with  the  Union's  demands,  but — well,  he  would 
wait.  It  was  no  use  anticipating  trouble. 

But  more  bad  news  was  awaiting  him  when  he 
reached  his  office.  Dawson,  in  his  absence,  had 
opened  a  letter  which  had  arrived  by  runner  from 
Bob  Mason,  the  foreman  of  the  camps  up  in  the 
hills. 

Dawson  was  no  alarmist.  He  always  looked  to 
Dave  for  everything  when  a  crisis  confronted  them. 
He  felt  that  if  not  a  crisis,  something  very  like  it 
was  before  them  now,  and  so  he  calmly  handed 
Mason's  letter  to  his  boss,  confident  in  the  latter's 
capacity  to  deal  with  the  situation. 

"  This  come  along  by  hand,"  he  said  easily. 
"  Guess,  seein'  it's  wrote  '  important '  on  it,  I 
opened  it." 

Dave  nodded  while  he  threw  off  his  oilskins. 
He  made  no  particular  haste,  and  deposited  his 
mail  on  his  desk  before  he  took  the  letter  from  his 
foreman.  At  last,  however,  he  unfolded  the  sheet  of 


150  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

foolscap  on  which  it  was  written,  and  read  the 
ominous  contents.  It  was  a  long  letter  dealing 
with  the  business  of  the  camps,  but  the  one  para- 
graph which  had  made  the  letter  important  threw 
all  the  rest  into  insignificance.  It  ran  — 


"  I  regret  to  have  to  report  that  an  epidemic  of 
mountain  fever  has  broken  out  in  two  of  our  camps 
— the  new  No.  8  and  No.  I.  We  have  already 
nearly  eighty  cases  on  the  sick  list,  chiefly  amongst 
the  new  hands  from  Ottawa  who  are  not  yet 
acclimatized.  The  summer  rains  have  been  ex' 
ceedingly  heavy,  which  in  a  large  measure  accounts 
for  the  trouble.  I  shall  be  glad  if  you  will  send  up 
medical  aid,  and  a  supply  of  drugs,  at  once. 
Dysentery  is  likely  to  follow,  and  you  know  what 
that  means. 

"  We  are  necessarily  short-handed  now,  but,  by 
increasing  hours  and  offering  inducements,  and  by 
engaging  any  stray  hands  that  filter  up  to  the 
camps,  I  hope  to  keep  the  work  going  satis- 
factorily. I  am  isolating  the  sick,  of  course,  but  it 
is  most  important  that  you  send  me  the  medical 
aid  at  once,"  etc.,  etc. 


Dave  was  silent  for  a  while  after  reading  the  let- 
ter, and  the  gravity  of  his  expression  was  enhanced 
by  the  extreme  plainness  of  his  features.  His 
steady  eyes  were  looking  out  through  the  open 
doorway  at  the  mill  beyond,  as  though  it  were 
some  living  creature  to  whom  he  was  bound  by  ties 
of  the  deepest  affection,  and  for  whom  he  saw  the 
foreshadowing  of  disaster.  At  last  he  turned. 


THE  SUMMER  RAINS  151 

"  Damn  the  rain,"  he  said  impatiently.  Then  he 
added,  "  I'll  see  to  it." 

Dawson  glanced  quickly  at  his  chief. 

"  Nothin'  I  ken  do,  boss  ?  "  he  inquired  casually. 

A  grim  smile  played  over  Dave's  rugged  features. 

"  Nothing,  I  guess,"  he  said,  "  unless  you  can  fix 
a  nozzle  on  to  heaven's  water-main  and  turn  it  on 
to  the  strikers  down  east." 

The  other  shook  his  head  seriously. 

"  I  ain't  worth  a  cent  in  the  plumbin'  line,  boss," 
he  said. 

Dawson  left  the  office.  The  mill  claimed  him  at 
all  times.  He  never  neglected  his  charge,  and 
rarely  allowed  himself  long  absences  beyond  the 
range  of  its  strident  music.  The  pressure  of  work 
seemed  to  increase  every  day.  He  knew  that  the 
strain  on  his  employer  was  enormous,  and  somehow 
he  would  have  been  glad  if  he  could  have  shared 
this  new  responsibility. 

Dave  had  just  taken  his  slicker  from  the  wall 
again  when  Dawson  came  back  to  the  door. 

"  Say,  ther's  that  feller  Mansell  been  around  this 
mornin'  lookin'  fer  a  job.  I  sed  he'd  best  come 
around  to-morrer.  I  didn't  guess  I'd  take  him  on 
till  I  see  you.  He's  a  drunken  bum  anyway." 

Dave  nodded. 

"  He  used  to  be  a  dandy  sawyer,"  he  said,  "  and 
we  need  'em.  Is  he  drinking  now  ?  " 

"  I've  heard  tell.  He  stank  o'  whiskey  's  mornin'. 
That's  why  I  passed  him  on.  Yes,  he's  a  dandy 
sawyer,  sure.  He  was  on  the  '  water  wagon'  'fore 


152          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

he  went  off  up  north  with  young  Truscott.  Mebbe 
he'll  sober  up  agin — if  we  put  him  to  work." 

Dave  clenched  the  matter  in  his  decided  way. 

"  Put  him  on  the  '  time  sheet '  to-morrow,  and  set 
him  on  the  No.  I  rollers,  beside  our  night  office. 
You  can  keep  a  sharp  eye  on  him  there.  He's  a 
bit  of  a  backslider,  but  if  giving  him  a  job'll  pull 
him  up  and  help  him,  why,  give  it  him.  We've  no 
right  to  refuse." 

He  struggled  into  his  slicker  again  as  Dawson 
went  off.  He  inspected  the  weather  outside  with 
no  very  friendly  eye.  It  meant  so  much  to  him. 
At  the  moment  the  deluge  was  like  a  bursting 
waterspout,  and  the  yards  were  like  a  lake  dotted 
with  islands  of  lumber.  But  he  plunged  out  into  it 
without  a  moment's  hesitation.  His  work  must  go 
on,  no  matter  what  came. 

He  hurried  off  in  the  direction  of  Chepstow's 
house.  It  was  some  time  since  he  had  seen  his 
friend,  and  though  the  cause  of  his  present  visit  was 
so  serious,  he  was  glad  of  the  opportunity  of  mak- 
ing it. 

Tom  Chepstow  saw  him  coming,  and  met  him  on 
the  veranda.  He  was  always  a  man  of  cheery 
spirits,  and  just  now,  in  spite  of  the  weather,  he  was 
well  enough  satisfied  with  the  world.  Matters  be- 
tween Betty  and  Jim  Truscott  had  been  settled  just 
as  he  could  wish,  so  there  was  little  to  bother  him. 

"  I  was  really  considering  the  advisability  of  a 
telephone  from  h~re  tc  your  office,  Dave,"  he  said, 
with  a  smiling  welcome.  "  But  joking  apart,  I 


THE  SUMMER  RAINS  153 

never  seem  to  see  you  now.  How's  things  down 
there  ?  If  report  says  truly,  you're  doing  a  great 
work." 

Dave  shook  his  head. 

"  The  mills  are,"  he  said  modestly. 

Chepstow  laughed  heartily. 

"  That's  your  way  of  putting  it.  You  and  the 
mills  are  one.  Nobody  ever  speaks  of  one  with- 
out including  the  other.  You'll  never  marry,  my 
boy.  You  are  wedded  to  the  shriek  of  your  be- 
loved buzz-saws.  Here,  take  off  those  things  and 
come  in.  We've  got  a  drop  of  Mary's  sloe  gin 
somewhere." 

They  went  into  the  parlor,  and  Dave  removed  his 
oilskins.  While  he  hung  them  to  drain  on  a  nail 
outside,  the  parson  poured  him  out  a  wineglass  of 
his  wife's  renowned  sloe  gin.  He  drank  it  down 
quickly,  not  because  he  cared  particularly  about  it, 
but  out  of  compliment  to  his  friend's  wife.  Then 
he  set  his  glass  down,  and  began  to  explain  his 
visit. 

"  This  isn't  just  a  friendly  visit,  Tom,"  he  said. 
"  It's  business.  Bad  business.  You've  got  to  help 
me  out." 

The  parson  opened  his  eyes.  It  was  something 
quite  new  to  have  Dave  demanding  help. 

"  Go  ahead,"  he  said,  his  keen  eyes  lighting  with 
amusement. 

Dave  drew  a  bunch  of  letters  from  his  coat 
pocket.  He  glanced  over  them  hastily,  and  picked 
out  Mason's  and  handed  it  to  the  other.  In  pick- 


154  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

ing  it  out  he  had  discovered  another  letter  he  had 
left  unopened. 

"  Read  that,"  he  said,  while  he  glanced  at  the 
address  on  the  unopened  envelope. 

The  handwriting  was  strange  to  him,  and  while 
Tom  Chepstow  was  reading  Mason's  letter  he  tore 
the  other  open.  As  he  read,  the  gravity  of  his  face 
slowly  relaxed.  At  last  an  exclamation  from  the 
parson  made  him  look  up. 

"  This  is  terrible,  Dave !  " 

"  It's  a  bit  fierce,"  the  other  agreed.  "  Have  you 
read  it  all  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  you've  got  my  meaning  in  coming  to 
you  ?  " 

"  I  see.     I  hadn't  thought  of  it." 

Dave  smiled  into  the  other's  face. 

"  You're  going  to  do  it  for  me  ?  It  may  mean 
weeks.  It  may  even  mean  months.  You  see,  it's 
an  epidemic.  At  the  best  it  might  be  only  a  couple 
of  weeks.  They're  tough,  those  boys.  On  the 
other  hand  it  might  mean — anything  to  me." 

Chepstow  nodded.  He  understood  well  enough 
what  an  epidemic  of  mountain  fever  in  his  lumber 
camps  must  mean  to  Dave.  He  understood  the 
conditions  under  which  he  stood  with  regard  to  his 
contract.  A  catastrophe  like  that  might  mean 
ruin.  And  ruin  for  Dave  would  mean  ruin  for 
nearly  all  connected  with  Malkern. 

"  Yes,  I'll  do  it,  Dave.  Putting  all  friendship  on 
one  side,  it  is  clearly  my  duty.  Certainly.  I'll  go 


THE  SUMMER  RAINS  155 

up  there  and  lend  all  the  aid  I  possibly  can.  You 
must  outfit  me  with  drugs  and  help." 

Dave  held  out  his  hand,  and  the  two  men  gripped. 

"  Thanks,  Tom,"  he  said  simply,  although  he 
experienced  a  world  of  relief  and  gratitude.  "  I 
wouldn't  insult  you  with  a  bribe  before  you  con- 
sented, but  when  you  come  back  there's  a  thump- 
ing check  for  your  charities  lying  somewhere 
around  my  office." 

The  parson  laughed  in  his  whole-hearted  fashion, 
while  his  friend  once  more  donned  his  oilskins. 

"  I'm  always  open  to  that  sort  of  bribery,  old 
boy,"  he  said,  and  was  promptly  answered  by  one 
of  Dave's  slow  smiles. 

"  That's  good,"  he  said.  Then  he  held  up  his 
other  letter,  but  he  did  not  offer  it  to  be  read. 

"  Betty  told  you  what  happened  at  my  office  the 
other  day — I  mean,  what  happened  to  Jim  Trus- 
cott  ? "  The  parson's  face  clouded  with  swift 
anger. 

"  The  ras " 

"  Just  so.  Yes,  we  had  some  bother ;  but  he's 
just  sent  me  this.  A  most  apologetic  letter.  He 
offers  to  sell  me  his  mill  now.  I  wanted  to  buy  it, 
you  know.  He  wants  twenty  thousand  dollars 
cash  for  it.  I  shall  close  the  deal  at  once."  He 
laughed. 

"  Hard  up,  I  s'pose?  " 

Dave  shook  his  head. 

"  I  don't  think  so.  His  change  of  front  is 
curious,  though,"  he  went  on  thoughtfully.  "  How- 


156  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

ever,  that  don't  matter.  I  want  the  mill,  and — I'm 
going  to  buy.  So  long.  I've  got  to  go  and  look 
at  that  piece  of  new  track  I'm  getting  laid  down. 
My  single  line  to  the  depot  isn't  sufficient.  I'll  let 
you  know  about  starting  up  to  the  camps.  I've 
got  a  small  gang  of  lumber-jacks  coming  up  from 
Ottawa.  Maybe  I'll  get  you  to  go  up  with  them 
later.  Thanks,  Tom." 

The  two  men  shook  hands  again,  and  Dave  de- 
parted. 

He  battled  his  way  through  the  driving  rain  to 
his  railroad  construction,  and  on  the  road  he 
thought  a  good  deal  of  Truscott's  neglected  letter. 
There  was  something  in  its  tone  he  could  not  con- 
vince himself  about.  Why,  he  asked  himself, 
should  he,  so  closely  following  on  the  events  which 
had  happened  in  his  office,  deliberately  turn  round 
and  display  such  a  Christian-like  spirit  ?  Somehow 
it  didn't  seem  to  suit  him.  It  didn't  carry  con- 
viction. Then  there  was  the  letter;  its  wording 
was  too  careful.  It  was  so  deliberately  careful  that 
it  suggested  a  suppression  of  real  feeling.  This 
was  his  impression,  and  though  Dave  was  usually 
an  unsuspicious  man,  he  could  not  shake  it  off. 

He  thought  of  little  else  but  that  letter  all  the 
way  to  his  works,  and  after  reviewing  the  man's 
attitude  from  what,  in  his  own  simple  honesty,  he 
considered  to  be  every  possible  standpoint,  he 
finally,  with  a  quaint,  even  quixotic,  kindliness 
assured  himself  that  there  could  after  all  be  but  one 
interpretation  to  it.  The  man  was  penitent  at  his 


THE  SUMMER  RAINS  157 

painful  exhibition  before  Betty,  and  his  vile  accu- 
sations against  himself.  That  his  moral  strength 
was  not  equal  to  standing  the  strain  of  a  personal 
interview.  That  his  training  up  at  the  Yukon, 
where  he  had  learned  the  sordid  methods  of  a 
professional  gambler,  had  suggested  the  selling  of 
his  mill  to  him  as  a  sort  of  peace-offering.  And 
the  careful,  stilted  tone  of  the  letter  itself  was  due 
to  the  difficulty  of  its  composition.  Further,  he 
decided  to  accept  his  offer,  and  do  so  in  a  cordial, 
friendly  spirit,  and,  when  opportunity  offered,  to 
endeavor,  by  his  own  moral  influence,  to  drag  him 
back  to  the  paths  of  honest  citizenship.  This  was 
the  decision  to  which  his  generous  nature  prompted 
him.  But  his  head  protested. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE   OLD    MILLS 

WHEN  Dave  reached  the  construction  camp  the 
work  was  in  full  swing.  The  men,  clad  in  oilskins, 
paid  little  heed  to  the  rain.  Ahead  was  the  gang 
spreading  the  heavy  stone  gravel  bed,  behind  it 
came  those  laying  and  trimming  ties.  Following 
close  upon  their  heels  came  others  engaged  in 
setting  and  bolting  the  rails,  while  hard  in  the  rear 
followed  a  gang  leveling,  checking  guage,  and 
ballasting.  It  was  very  rough  railroad  construc- 
tion, but  the  result  was  sufficient  for  the  require- 
ments. It  was  rapid,  and  lacked  the  careful 
precision  of  a  "  permanent  way,"  but  the  men  were 
working  at  high  pressure  against  time. 

Dave  saw  that  all  was  well  here.  He  exchanged 
a  few  words  with  the  foreman,  and  gave  his  orders. 
Then  he  passed  on,  intending  to  return  to  the  mill 
for  his  buckboard.  Crossing  the  bridge  to  take  a 
short  cut,  he  encountered  Betty  driving  home  from 
her  school  in  her  uncle's  buggy.  She  drew  up  at 
once. 

"  Whither  away,  Dave  ?  "  she  cried.  Then  she 
hastily  turned  the  dozy  old  mare  aside,  so  as  to 
open  the  wheels  to  let  the  man  climb  in.  "  Come 
along;  don't  stand  there  in  the  rain.  Isn't  it 


THE  OLD  MILLS  159 

awful?  The  river'll  be  flooding  to-morrow  if  it 
doesn't  stop  soon.  Back  to  the  mills  ?  " 

Dave  clambered  into  the  buggy  and  divested 
himself  of  his  dripping  oilskins.  The  vehicle  was 
a  covered  one,  and  comparatively  rain-proof,  even 
in  such  a  downpour. 

"  Well,  I  guess  so,"  he  said.  "  I'm  just  going 
back  to  get  my  buckboard.  Then  I'm  going  up  to 
get  a  look  at  Jim  Truscott's  old  mill.  He's  sent 
word  this  morning  to  say  he'll  sell  it  me." 

The  girl  chirruped  at  the  old  mare,  but  offered 
no  comment.  The  simple  process  of  driving  over 
a  road  nothing  could  have  induced  the  parson's 
faithful  beast  to  leave  seemed  to  demand  all  her 
attention. 

"Did  he  send,  or — have  you  seen  him?"  she 
asked  him  presently.  And  it  was  plain  that  the 
matter  was  of  unusual  interest  to  her. 

"  I  said  he  sent.  He  wrote  to  me — and  mailed 
the  letter." 

"  Was  there  anything — else  in  the  letter  ?  " 

The  girl's  tone  was  cold  enough.  Dave,  watch- 
ing her,  was  struck  by  the  decision  in  her  expres- 
sion. He  wanted  to  hear  what  she  thought  of  the 
letter.  He  was  anxious  to  see  its  effect  on  her. 
He  handed  it  to  her,  and  quietly  took  the  reins  out 
of  her  hands. 

"  You  can  read  it,"  he  said.  And  Betty  eagerly 
unfolded  the  paper. 

The  mare  plodded  on,  splashing  solemnly  and 
indifferently  through  the  torrential  streams  flooding 


160          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

the  trail,  and  they  were  nearly  through  the  village 
by  the  time  she  handed  the  letter  back  and  re- 
sumed the  reins. 

"  Curious.  I — I  don't  think  I  understand  him  at 
all,"  she  said  gravely. 

"  It's  an  apology,"  said  Dave,  anxious  for  her  to 
continue. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  it  is."  She  paused.  "  But  why 
to  you  ?  "  Then  a  whimsical  smile  spread  over  her 
round  face.  "  I  thought  you  two  were  nearly 
square.  Now,  if  the  apology  had  come  to 
me " 

"  Yes,  I  hadn't  thought  of  that." 

Both  sat  thinking  for  some  time.  They  arrived 
at  the  point  where  the  trail  turned  up  to  Tom 
Chepstow's  house.  Betty  ignored  the  turning  and 
kept  on. 

"  Is  that  mill  worth  all  that  money  ?  "  she  asked 
suddenly. 

Dave  shook  his  head. 

"  You've  come  too  far,"  he  said,  pointing  at  her 
uncle's  house.  And  the  girl  smiled. 

"  I  want  to  have  a  look  at  the  mill.  Why  are 
you  buying  it  at  that  price,  Dave?" 

"  Because  there's  no  time  to  haggle,  and — I  want 
it." 

Betty  nodded.  She  was  looking  straight  ahead, 
and  the  man  failed  to  see  the  tender  light  his  words 
had  conjured  in  her  eyes.  She  knew  that  Dave 
would  never  have  paid  that  money  to  anybody 
else,  no  matter  how  much  he  wanted  the  mill.  He 


THE  OLD  MILLS  161 

was  doing  it  for  Jim.  However  unworthy  the  man 
was,  it  made  no  difference  to  his  large-hearted 
nature. 

The  tenderness  still  lingered  in  her  eyes  when 
she  turned  to  him  again. 

"  Is  Jim  hard  up  ?  "  she  inquired. 

The  frigidity  of  her  tone  was  wholly  at  variance 
with  her  expression.  But  it  told  plainly  of  her 
feelings  for  the  subject  of  her  inquiry.  Dave 
shook  his  head. 

"  From  all  I've  heard,  and  from  his  own  talk,  I'd 
guess  not." 

Betty  suddenly  became  very  angry.  She  wanted 
to  shake  somebody,  even  Dave,  since  he  was  the 
only  person  near  enough  to  be  shaken. 

"  He  says  in  his  letter, «  as  the  mill  is  no  further 
use  to  me,' "  she  cried  indignantly.  "  Dave,  your 
Christian  spirit  carries  you  beyond  all  bounds. 
You  have  no  right  to  give  all  that  money  for  it.  It 
isn't  worth  it  anyway.  You  are — and  he — he — 
oh,  I've  simply  no  words  for  him  !  " 

"  But  your  uncle,  with  due  regard  for  his  cloth, 
has,"  Dave  put  in  quickly. 

Betty's  indignation  was  gone  in  an  instant,  lost 
in  the  laugh  which  responded  to  his  dry  tone. 

He  had  no  intention  of  making  her  laugh,  but  he 
was  glad  she  did  so.  It  told  him  so  much.  It 
reassured  him  of  something  on  which  he  had 
needed  reassurance.  Her  parting  with  Jim,  giving 
up  as  it  did  the  habit  and  belief  of  years,  had  troub- 
led him.  Then  in  some  measure  he  had  felt  him- 


162  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

self  responsible,  although  he  knew  perfectly  well 
that  no  word  of  his  had  ever  encouraged  her  on  the 
course  she  had  elected.  He  was  convinced  now. 
Her  regard  for  Jim  was  utterly  dead,  had  been  dead 
far  longer  than  probably  even  she  realized. 

With  this  conviction  a  sudden  wild  hope  leapt 
within  him ;  but,  like  summer  lightning,  its  very 
brilliancy  left  the  night  seemingly  darker.  No,  it 
could  never  be  now.  Betty  liked  him,  liked  him 
only  too  well.  Her  frank  friendliness  was  too  out- 
spoken, and  then — ah,  yes,  he  knew  himself.  Did 
he  ever  get  the  chance  of  forgetting  ?  Did  not  his 
mirror  remind  him  every  morning?  Did  not  his 
hair  brushes,  even,  force  it  upon  him  as  they  loyally 
struggled  to  arrange  some  order  in  his  obstinate 
wiry  hair?  Did  not  every  chair,  even  his  very  bed, 
cry  out  at  the  awful  burden  they  were  called  upon 
to  support  ?  Somehow  his  thoughts  made  him  re- 
bellious. Why  should  he  be  so  barred?  Why 
should  he  be  denied  the  happiness  all  men  are 
created  for  ?  But  in  a  man  like  Dave  such  rebel- 
lion was  not  likely  to  find  vent  in  words,  or  even 
mood. 

In  the  midst  of  his  thought  the  drone  of  his  own 
distant  mills  came  to  him  through  the  steady  hiss 
of  the  rain.  The  sound  held  him,  and  he  experi- 
enced a  strange  comfort.  It  was  like  an  answer  to 
his  mute  appeal.  It  reminded  him  that  his  work 
lay  before  him.  It  was  a  call  to  which  he  was 
wedded,  bound ;  it  claimed  his  every  nerve ;  it  de- 
manded his  every  thought  like  the  most  exacting 


THE  OLD  MILLS  163 

mistress ;  and,  for  the  moment,  it  gripped  him  with 
all  the  old  force. 

"  Say,"  he  cried,  holding  up  a  warning  finger, 
untidy  with  years  of  labor,  "  isn't  she  booming  ? 
Hark  at  the  saws,"  he  went  on,  his  eyes  glowing 
with  pride  and  enthusiasm.  "  They're  singing  to 
beat  the  band.  It's  real  music." 

They  listened. 

"  Hark ! "  he  went  on  presently,  and  Betty's  eyes 
watched  him  with  a  tender  smile  in  their  brown 
depths.  "  Hear  the  rise  and  fall  of  it  as  the  breeze 
carries  it  Hear  the  '  boom '  of  the  '  ninety- 
footers  '  as  they  drop  into  the  shoots.  Isn't  it 
great  ?  Isn't  it  elegant  music  ?  " 

Betty  nodded.  Her  sympathy  was  with  him  if 
she  smiled  at  his  words. 

"  A  lumbering  symphony,"  she  said. 

Dave's  face  suddenly  fell. 

"  Ah,"  he  said  apologetically,  "  you  weren't 
brought  up  on  a  diet  of  buzz-saw  trimmings." 

Betty  shook  her  head. 

"  No,"  she  said  gently,  "  patent  food." 

Dave's  enthusiasm  dropped  from  him,  and  his 
face,  unlit  by  it,  had  fallen  back  into  its  stern  set. 
At  the  sight  of  the  almost  tragic  change  Betty's 
heart  smote  her,  and  she  hastened  to  make  amends, 
fearful  lest  he  should  fail  to  realize  the  sympathy 
she  had  for  him. 

"Ah,  no,  Dave,"  she  cried.  "  I  know.  I  under- 
stand. I,  too,  love  those  mills  for  what  they  mean 
to  you,  to  us,  to  Malkern.  They  are  your  world. 


164  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

They  are  our  world.  You  have  slowly,  laboriously 
built  them  up.  You  have  made  us — Malkern. 
Your  prosperity  means  happiness  and  prosperity  to 
hundreds  in  our  beloved  valley.  You  do  not  love 
those  mills  for  the  fortune  they  are  piling  up  for 
you,  but  for  the  sake  of  those  others  who  share  in 
your  great  profits  and  whose  lives  you  have  been 
able  to  gladden.  I  know  you,  Dave.  And  I  un- 
derstand the  real  music  you  hear." 

The  man  shook  his  head,  but  his  voice  rang  with 
deep  feeling.  He  knew  that  he  did  not  deserve  all 
this  girl's  words  conveyed,  but,  coming  from  her, 
it  was  very  sweet. 

"  Little  Betty,"  he  said,  "  you  kind  of  run  away 
with  things.  There's  a  fellow  called  'Dave'  I 
think  about  a  heap.  I  think  about  him  such  a 
heap  I'm  most  always  thinking  of  him.  He's  got 
ambition  bad — so  bad  he  thinks  of  precious  little 
else.  Then  he's  most  terrible  human.  You'd 
marvel  if  you  knew  just  how  human  he  was.  Now 
you'd  think,  maybe,  he'd  not  want  anything  he 
hasn't  got,  wouldn't  you  ?  You'd  think  he  was 
happy  and  content  to  see  everything  he  undertakes 
prospering,  and  other  folks  happy.  Well,  he  just 
isn't,  and  that's  a  fact.  He's  mighty  thankful  for 
mercies  received,  but  there's  a  heap  of  other 
mercies  he  grumbles  because  he  hasn't  got." 

There  was  so  much  sincerity  in  the  man's  voice 
that  Betty  turned  and  stared  at  him. 

"  And  aren't  you  happy,  Dave  ? "  she  asked, 
hardly  knowing  what  she  said,  but,  woman-like, 


THE  OLD  MILLS  165 

fixing  on  the  one  point  that  appealed  to  her 
deepest  sympathy.  , 

He  evaded  the  direct  question. 

"  I'm  as  happy  as  a  third  child  in  playtime,"  he 
said;  and  then,  before  she  could  fully  grasp  his 
meaning,  "  Ah,  here's  the  mill.  Guess  we'll  pull 
up  right  here." 

The  old  mare  came  to  a  standstill,  and  Dave 
sprang  out  before  Betty  could  answer  him.  And 
as  soon  as  she  had  alighted  he  led  the  horse  to  a 
shed  out  of  the  rain. 

Then  together  they  explored  the  mill,  and  their 
talk  at  once  became  purely  technical.  The  man 
became  the  practical  lumberman,  and,  note-book  in 
hand,  he  led  the  way  from  room  to  room  and  floor 
to  floor,  observing  every  detail  of  the  conditions 
prevailing.  And  all  the  time  they  talked,  Betty 
displaying  such  an  exhaustive  knowledge  of  the 
man's  craft  that  at  times  she  quite  staggered  him. 
It  was  a  revelation,  a  source  of  constant  wonder, 
and  it  added  a  zest  to  the  work  which  made  him 
love  every  moment  spent  in  carrying  it  out. 

It  was  over  an  hour  before  the  inspection  was 
finished,  and  to  Dave  it  scarcely  seemed  more  than 
a  matter  of  minutes.  Then  there  was  yet  the  drive 
home  with  Betty  at  his  side.  As  they  drove  away 
the  culminating  point  in  the  man's  brief  happiness 
was  reached  when  the  girl,  with  interest  such  as 
his  own  might  have  been,  pointed  out  the  value  of 
his  purchase. 

"  It  will  take  you  exactly  a  week  to  outfit  that 


166  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

mill,  I  should  say,"  she  said.  "  Its  capacity  for  big 
stuff  is  so  small  you  shouldn't  pay  a  cent  over  ten 
thousand  dollars  for  it." 

Dave  smiled.  Sometimes  Betty's  keenness  of 
perception  in  his  own  business  made  him  feel  very 
small.  Several  times  already  that  morning  she  had 
put  things  so  incisively  before  him  that  he  found 
himself  wondering  whether  he  had  considered  them 
from  the  right  point  of  view.  He  was  about  to  an- 
swer her,  but  finally  contented  himself  with  a  won- 
dering exclamation. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Betty,  where  did  you  learn 
it  all?" 

It  was  a  delighted  laugh  that  answered  him. 

"  Where  ?  Where  do  you  think  ?  Why,  from 
the  one  man  competent  to  teach  me.  You  forget 
that  I  came  to  you  for  instruction  five  years  ago." 

The  girl's  eyes  were  dancing  with  pleasure. 
Somehow  the  desire  for  this  man's  praise  and  ap- 
proval had  unconsciously  become  part  of  her  whole 
outlook.  Her  simple  honesty  would  not  let  her 
deny  it — showed  her  no  reason  for  denying  it. 
She  sometimes  told  herself  it  was  just  her  vanity ;  it 
was  the  desire  of  a  pupil  for  a  master's  praise. 
She,  as  yet,  could  see  no  other  reason  for  it,  and 
would  have  laughed  at  the  idea  that  any  warmer 
feeling  could  possibly  underlie  it. 

Dave's  pleasure  in  her  acknowledgment  was  very 
evident. 

"  I  haven't  forgotten,  Betty,"  he  said.  "  But  I 
never  taught  you  all  that.  It's  your  own  clever  lit- 


THE  OLD  MILLS  167 

tie  head.  You  could  give  Joel  Dawson  a  start  and 
beat  him." 

"  You  don't  understand,"  the  girl  declared 
quickly.  "  It  was  you  who  gave  me  the  ground- 
work, and  then  I  thought  and  thought.  You  see, 
I — I  wanted  to  help  Jim  when  he  came  back." 

Dave  had  no  reply  to  make.  The  girl's  plain 
statement  had  damped  his  enthusiasm.  He  had 
forgotten  Jim.  She  had  done  this  for  love  of  the 
other  man. 

"  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  great  favor,"  she  went 
on  presently.  "  I  want  it  very — very  much.  You 
think  I've  learned  a  lot.  Well,  I  want  to  learn 
more.  I  don't  know  quite  why — I  s'pose  it's  be- 
cause I'm  interested.  I  want  to  see  the  big  lumber 
being  trimmed.  I  want  to  see  your  own  mill  in 
full  work,  and  have  what  I  don't  understand  ex- 
plained to  me.  Will  you  do  it?  Some  night.  I'd 
like  to  see  it  all  in  its  most  inspiring  light.  Will 
you,  Dave  ?  " 

She  laid  a  coaxing  hand  on  his  great  arm,  and 
looked  eagerly  into  his  eyes.  At  that  moment  the 
lumberman  would  have  promised  her  the  world. 
And  he  would  have  striven  with  every  nerve  in  his 
body  to  fulfil  his  promise. 

"  Sure,"  he  said  simply.  "  Name  your  own 
time." 

And  for  once  the  girl  didn't  thank  him  in  her 
usual  frank  way.  She  simply  drew  her  hand  away 
and  chirruped  at  the  old  mare. 

For  the  rest  of  the  drive  home  she  remained 


168          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

silent.  It  was  as  though  Dave's  ready,  eager 
promise  had  suddenly  affected  her  in  some  disturb- 
ing way.  Her  brown  eyes  looked  straight  ahead 
along  the  trail,  and  they  were  curiously  serious. 

They  reached  the  man's  home.  He  alighted, 
and  she  drove  on  to  her  own  destination  with  a 
feeling  of  relief  not  unmixed  with  regret. 

Dave's  mother  had  been  long  waiting  dinner  for 
her  boy.  She  had  seen  the  buggy  and  guessed 
who  was  in  it,  and  as  he  came  up  she  greeted  him 
with  pride  and  affection  shining  in  her  old  eyes. 

"  That  was  Betty  ?  "  she  inquired,  moving  across 
to  the  dinner-table,  while  the  man  removed  his 
slicker. 

"  Yes,  ma,"  he  said  coolly.  He  had  no  desire  to 
discuss  Betty  with  any  one  just  then,  not  even  with 
his  mother. 

"  Driving  with  her,  dear  ?  "  she  asked,  with  smil- 
ing, searching  eyes  upon  his  averted  face. 

"  She  gave  me  a  lift,"  Dave  replied,  coming  over 
and  sitting  down  at  the  table. 

His  mother,  instead  of  helping  him  to  his  food, 
suddenly  came  round  to  his  side  and  laid  one 
affectionate  hand  upon  his  great  shoulder.  The 
contrast  in  these  two  had  something  almost 
ridiculous  in  it.  He  was  so  huge,  and  she  was  so 
small.  Perhaps  the  only  things  they  possessed  in 
common,  outside  of  their  mutual  adoration,  were 
the  courage  and  strength  which  shone  in  their  gray 
eyes,  and  the  abounding  kindliness  of  heart  for  all 
humanity.  But  whereas  these  things  in  the 


THE  OLD  MILLS  169 

mother  were  always  second  to  her  love  for  her  boy, 
the  boy's  first  thought  and  care  was  for  the  great 
work  his  own  hands  had  created. 

"  Dave,"  she  said  very  gently,  "  when  am  I 
going  to  have  a  daughter  ?  I'm  getting  very,  very 
old,  and  I  don't  want  to  leave  you  alone  in  the 
world." 

The  man  propped  his  elbow  on  the  table  and 
rested  his  head  on  his  hand.  His  eyes  were  almost 
gloomy. 

"  I  don't  want  to  lose  you,  ma,"  he  said.  "  It 
would  break  me  up  ter'ble.  Life's  mostly  lonesome 
anyhow."  Then  he  looked  keenly  up  into  her 
face,  and  his  glance  was  one  of  concern.  "  You — 
you  aren't  ailing  any  ?  " 

The  old  woman  shook  her  head,  and  her  eyes 
smiled  back  at  him. 

"  No,  boy,  I'm  not  ailing.  But  I  worry  some  at 
times.  You  see,  I  like  Betty  very,  very  much.  In 
a  different  way,  I'm  almost  as  fond  of  her  as  you 
are " 

Dave  started  and  was  about  to  break  in,  but  his 
mother  shook  her  head,  and  her  hand  caressed  his 
cheek  with  infinite  tenderness. 

"  Why  don't  you  marry  her,  now — now  that  the 
other  is  broken  off " 

But  Dave  turned  to  her,  and,  swept  by  an  almost 
fierce  emotion,  would  not  be  denied. 

"Why,  ma?  Why?"  he  cried,  with  all  the 
pent-up  bitterness  of  years  in  the  depth  of  his  tone. 
"  Look  at  me  !  Look  at  me !  And  you  ask  me 


i/o  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

why."  He  held  out  his  two  hands  as  though  to  let 
her  see  him  as  he  was.  "  Would  any  woman  think 
of  me — look  at  me  with  thoughts  of  love?  She 
couldn't.  What  am  I  ?  A  mountain  of  muscle, 
brawn,  bone,  whatever  you  will,  with  a  face  and 
figure  even  a  farmer  would  hate  to  set  up  over  a 
corn  patch  at  harvest  time."  He  laughed  bitterly. 
«  No — no,  ma,"  he  went  on,  his  tone  softening,  and 
taking  her  worn  hand  tenderly  in  his.  "  There  are 
folks  made  for  marriage,  and  folks  that  aren't. 
And  when  folks  that  aren't  get  marrying  they're 
doing  a  mean  thing  on  the  girl.  I'm  not  going  to 
think  a  mean  thing  for  Betty — let  alone  do  one." 

His  mother  moved  away  to  her  seat. 

"  Well,  boy,  I'll  say  no  more,  but  I'm  thinking  a 
time'll  come  when  you'll  be  doing  a  mean  thing  by 
Betty  if  you  don't,  and  she'll  be  the  one  that'll 
think  it " 

•«  Ma ! " 

"  The  dinner's  near  cold." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

BETTY    DECIDES 

Two  nights  later  Dave  was  waiting  in  the  tally 
room  for  his  guests  to  arrive.  The  place  was  just  a 
corner  partitioned  off  from  the  milling  floor.  It 
was  here  the  foreman  kept  account  of  the  day's 
work — a  bare  room,  small,  and  hardly  worth  the 
name  of  "  office."  Yet  there  was  work  enough 
done  in  it  to  satisfy  the  most  exacting  master. 

The  master  of  the  mills  had  taken  up  a  position 
in  the  narrow  doorway,  in  full  view  of  the  whole 
floor,  and  was  watching  the  sawyer  on  No.  I.  It 
was  Mansell.  He  beheld  with  delight  the  wonder- 
ful skill  with  which  the  man  handled  the  giant  logs 
as  they  creaked  and  groaned  along  over  the  rollers. 
He  appeared  to  be  sober,  too.  His  deliberate 
movements,  timed  to  the  fraction  of  a  second,  were 
sufficient  evidence  of  this.  He  felt  glad  that  he 
had  taken  him  on  his  time-sheet.  Every  really 
skilful  sawyer  was  of  inestimable  value  at  the 
moment,  and,  after  all,  this  man's  failing  was  one 
pretty  common  to  all  good  lumbermen. 

Dawson  came  up,  and  Dave  nodded  in  the 
sawyer's  direction. 

"  Working  good,"  he  observed  with  satisfaction. 

"  Too  good  to  last,  if  I  know  anything,"  grum- 
bled the  foreman.  "  He'll  get  breakin'  out,  an 


1/2  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

then I've  a  mind  to  set  him  on  a  '  buzz-saw/ 

These  big  saws  won't  stand  for  tricks  if  he  happens 
to  git  around  with  a  'jag'  on." 

"  You  can't  put  a  first-class  sawyer  on  to  a 
•  buzzer,'  "  said  Dave  decisively.  "  It's  tantamount 
to  telling  him  he  doesn't  know  his  work.  No, 
keep  him  where  he  is.  If  he  '  signs '  in  with  a 
souse  on,  push  him  out  till  he's  sober.  But  so  long 
as  he's  right  let  him  work  where  he  is." 

"  Guess  you're  « boss '  o'  this  lay-out,"  grumbled 
the  foreman. 

"  Just  so." 

Then,  as  though  the  matter  had  no  further  con- 
cern for  him,  Dawson  changed  the  subject. 

"  There's  twenty  '  jacks  '  scheduled  by  to-night's 
mail,"  he  said,  as  though  speaking  of  some  dry- 
goods  instead  of  a  human  freight. 

"  They're  for  the  hills  to-night.  Mr.  Chepstow's 
promised  to  go  up  and  dose  the  boys  for  their  fever. 
I'm  putting  it  to  him  to-night.  He'll  take  'em  with 
him.  By  the  way,  I'm  expecting  the  parson  and 
Miss  Betty  along  directly.  They  want  to  get  a 
look  at  this."  He  waved  an  arm  in  the  direction 
of  the  grinding  rollers.  "  They  want  to  see  it — 
busy." 

Dawson  was  less  interested  in  the  visitors. 

"  I  see  'em  as  I  come  up,"  he  said  indifferently. 
"  Looked  like  they'd  been  around  your  office." 

Dave  turned  on  him  sharply. 

"  Go  down  and  bring  'em  along  up.  And  say — 
get  things  ready  for  sending  up  to  the  camps  to- 


BETTY  DECIDES  173 

night.  Parson'll  have  my  buckboard  and  the  black 
team.  He's  got  to  travel  quick.  They  can  come 
right  away  back  when  he's  got  there.  See  he's  got 
plenty  of  bedding  and  rations.  Load  it  down  good. 
There's  a  case  of  medical  supplies  in  my  office. 
That  goes  with  him.  Then  you'll  get  three 
•  democrats '  from  Mulloc's  livery  barn  for  the  boys. 
See  they've  got  plenty  of  grub  too." 

When  Dave  gave  sharp  orders,  Dawson  simply 
listened  and  obeyed.  He  understood  his  employer, 
and  never  ventured  criticism  at  such  times.  He 
hurried  away  now  to  give  the  necessary  orders,  and 
then  went  on  to  find  the  visitors. 

Directly  he  had  gone  the  master  of  the  mills 
moved  over  to  the  sawyer  on  No.  i. 

"  You  haven't  forgotten  your  craft,  Mansell,"  he 
said  pleasantly,  his  deep  voice  carrying,  clarion- 
like,  distinctly  over  the  din  of  the  sawing-floor. 

"  Would  you  fergit  how  t'  eat,  boss  ?  "  the  man 
inquired  surlily,  measuring  an  oncoming  log  keenly 
with  his  eye.  He  bore  down  on  a  "  jolting  "  lever 
and  turned  the  log  into  a  fresh  position.  Then  he 
leant  forward  and  tipped  the  end  of  it  with  chalk. 
Hand  and  eye  worked  mechanically  together.  He 
knew  to  a  hairsbreadth  just  where  the  trimming  blade 
should  strike  the  log  to  get  the  maximum  square 
of  timber. 

Dave  shook  his  head. 

"  It  would  take  some  forgetting,"  he  said,  with  a 
smile.  "  You  see  there's  always  a  stomach  to 
remind  you." 


174          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

The  log  was  passing,  and  the  man  had  a  mo- 
ment's breathing  space  while  it  traveled  to  the 
fangs  of  the  rushing  saw.  He  looked  up  with  a 
pair  of  dark,  brooding  eyes  in  which  shone  a 
peculiarly  offensive  light. 

"  Jest  so,"  he  vouchsafed.  "  I  learned  this  when 
I  learned  t'  eat,  an'  it's  filled  my  belly  that  long,  fi' 
year  ain't  like  to  set  me  fergittin'." 

He  turned  to  the  rollers  and  watched  the  log.  He 
saw  it  hit  the  teeth  of  the  saw  plumb  on  his  chalk 
mark. 

"An  awful  waste  out  of  a  lumberman's  life,  that 
five  years,"  Dave  went  on,  when  the  crucial  moment 
had  passed.  "  That  mill  would  have  been  doing 
well  now,  and — and  you  were  foreman." 

He  was  looking  straight  into  the  fellow's  mean 
face.  He  noted  the  terrible  inroads  drink  had  made 
upon  it,  the  sunken  eyes,  the  pendulous  lip,  the 
lines  of  dissipation  in  deep  furrows  round  his  mouth. 
He  pitied  him  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  but 
allowed  no  softness  of  expression. 

"  Say,"  exclaimed  the  sawyer,  with  a  vicious  snap, 
"  when  I'm  lumberin'  I  ain't  got  time  fer  remem- 
berin'  anything  else — which  is  a  heap  good.  I 
don't  guess  it's  good  for  any  one  buttin'  in  when  the 
logs  are  rollin'.  Guess  that  log's  comin'  right  back." 

The  man's  unnecessary  insolence  was  a  little 
staggering.  Yet  Dave  rather  liked  him  for  it.  The 
independence  of  the  sawyer's  spirit  appealed  to  him. 
He  really  had  no  right  to  criticize  Mansell's  past,  to 
stir  up  an  unpleasant  memory  for  him. 


BETTY  DECIDES  175 

He  knew  his  men,  and  he  realized  that  he  had 
overstepped  his  rights  in  the  matter.  He  was 
simply  their  employer.  It  was  for  him  to  give 
orders,  and  for  them  to  obey.  In  all  else  he  must 
take  them  as  man  and  man.  He  felt  now  that  there 
was  nothing  more  for  him  to  say,  so  while  the 
sawyer  clambered  over  to  the  return  rollers,  ready 
for  the  second  journey  of  the  log,  he  walked 
thoughtfully  back  to  his  office. 

At  that  moment  his  visitors  appeared,  escorted 
by  Dawson.  The  foreman  was  piloting  them  with 
all  the  air  of  a  guide  and  the  pride  of  his  association 
with  the  mills.  Betty  was  walking  beside  him,  and 
while  taking  in  the  wonderful  scene  that  opened  out 
before  her,  she  was  listening  to  the  conversation  of 
the  two  men. 

The  foreman  had  taken  upon  himself  to  tell  the 
parson  of  the  orders  he  had  received  for  the  night 
journey,  and  the  details  of  the  preparations  being 
made  for  it.  The  news  came  to  Chepstow  un- 
pleasantly, yet  he  understood  that  its  urgency  must 
be  great,  or  Dave  would  never  have  decided  upon  so 
sudden  a  journey.  He  was  a  little  put  out,  but 
quite  ready  to  help  his  friend. 

It  was  the  first  Betty  had  heard  of  it.  She  was 
astonished  and  resentful.  She  had  heard  that  there 
was  fever  up  in  the  hills,  but  her  uncle  had  told  her 
nothing  of  Dave's  request  to  him.  Therefore,  before 
greetings  had  been  exchanged,  and  almost  before  the 
door  of  the  tally  room  had  closed  upon  the  departing 
foreman,  she  opened  a  volley  of  questions  upon  him. 


i;6          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

"  What's  this  about  uncle  going  up  to  the  hills 
to-night,  Dave?"  she  demanded.  "Why  has  it 
been  kept  secret?  Why  so  sudden?  Why  to- 
night ?  " 

Her  inquiring  glance  turned  from  one  to  the 
other. 

Dave  made  no  hurry  to  reply.  He  was  watching 
the  play  of  the  strong,  eager  young  face.  The  girl's 
directness  appealed  to  him  even  more  than  her 
beauty.  To-night  she  looked  very  pretty  in  a 
black  clinging  gown  which  made  her  look  almost 
fragile.  She  seemed  so  slight,  so  delicate,  yet  her 
whole  manner  had  such  reserve  of  virile  force.  He 
thought  now,  as  he  had  often  thought  before,  she 
possessed  a  brain  much  too  big  and  keen  for  her 
body,  yet  withal  so  essentially  womanly  as  to  be 
something  to  marvel  at. 

The  girl  became  impatient. 

"  Why  wasn't  I  told  ?  For  goodness'  sake  don't 
stand  there  staring,  Dave." 

"  There's  no  secrecy  exactly,  Betty,"  the  lumber- 
man said,  "  that  is,  except  from  the  folks  in  the 
village.  You  see,  anything  likely  to  check  our 
work,  such  as  fever  up  in  the  camps,  is  liable  to  set 
them  worrying  and  talking.  We  didn't  mean  to 
keep  it  from  you " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  the  girl  broke  in.  "  But  why  this 
hurry  ?  Why  to-night  ?  " 

And  so  she  forced  Dave  into  a  full  explanation, 
which  alone  would  satisfy  her.  At  the  end  of  it 
she  turned  to  her  uncle,  who  had  stood  quietly  by 


BETTY  DECIDES  177 

enjoying  the  manner  in  which  she  dictated  her  will 
upon  the  master  of  the  mills. 

"  It's  an  awful  shame  you've  got  to  go,  uncle, 
especially  while  you've  got  all  the  new  church 
affairs  upon  your  hands.  But  I  quite  see  Dave's 
right,  and  we  must  get  the  boys  well  as  quickly  as 
possible.  We've  got  to  remember  that  these  mills 
are  not  only  Dave's.  They  also  belong  to  Malkern 
— one  might  almost  say  to  the  people  of  this  valley. 
It  is  the  ship,  and — and  we  are  its  freight.  So  we 
start  at  midnight.  Does  auntie  know  ?  " 

Instantly  two  pairs  of  questioning  eyes  were 
turned  upon  her.  That  coupling  of  herself  with  her 
uncle  in  the  matter  had  not  escaped  them. 

"  Your  Aunt  Mary  knows  I  am  going  some  time. 
But  she  hasn't  heard  the  latest  development,  my 
dear,"  her  uncle  said.  "  But — but  you  said  '  we ' 
just  now?" 

Dave  understood.  He  knew  what  was  coming. 
But  then  he  understood  Betty  as  did  no  one  else. 
He  smiled. 

"  Of  course  I  said  '  we,'  "  Betty  exclaimed,  with  a 
laugh  which  only  served  to  cloak  the  resolve  that 
lay  behind  it.  "  You  are  not  going  alone.  Be- 
sides, you  can  physic  people  well  enough,  uncle 
dear,  but  you  can't  nurse  them  worth — worth  a 
cent.  School's  all  right,  and  can  get  on  without 
me  for  a  while.  Well  ?  "  She  smiled  quickly  from 
one  to  the  other.  "  Well,  we're  ready,  aren't  we  ? 
We  can't  let  this  interfere  with  our  view  of  the  mill." 

Her  uncle  shook  his  head. 


i;8  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

"  You  can't  go  up  there,  Betty,"  he  said  seriously. 
"  You  can't  go  about  amongst  those  men.  They're 

good  fellows.  They're  men.  But "  he  looked 

over  at  Dave  as  though  seeking  support,  a  thing  he 
rarely  needed.  But  he  was  dealing  with  Betty 
now,  and  where  she  was  concerned,  there  were  times 
when  he  felt  that  a  little  support  might  be  welcome. 

Dave  promptly  added  his  voice  in  support  of  his 
friend's  protest. 

"  You  can't  go,  little  Betty,"  he  said.  "  You  can't, 
little  girl,"  he  reiterated,  shaking  his  shaggy  head. 
"  You  think  you  know  the  lumber-jacks,  and  I'll 
allow  you  know  them  a  lot.  But  you  don't  know 
'em  up  in  those  camps.  They're  wild  men. 
They're  just  as  savage  as  wolves,  and  foolish  as 
babes.  They're  just  great  big  baby  men,  and  as 
irresponsible  as  half-witted  schoolboys.  I  give 
you  my  word  I  can't  let  you  go  up.  I  know  how 
you  want  to  help  us  out.  I  know  your  big  heart. 
And  I  know  still  more  what  a  help  you'd  be " 

"  And  that's  just  why  I'm  going,"  Betty  snapped 
him  up.  That  one  unfortunate  remark  undid  all 
the  impression  his  appeal  might  otherwise  have 
made.  And  as  the  two  men  realized  the  finality  of 
her  tone,  they  understood  the  hopelessness  of  turn- 
ing her  from  her  purpose. 

"  Uncle  dear,"  she  went  on,  "  please  say  '  yes.' 
Because  I'm  going,  and  I'd  feel  happier  with  your 
sanction.  Dave,"  she  turned  with  a  smile  upon  the 
lumberman,  "  you've  just  got  to  say  '  yes,'  or  I'll 
never — never  let  you  subscribe  to  any  charity  or— 


BETTY  DECIDES  179 

or  anything  I  ever  get  up  in  Malkern  again.  Now 
you  two  dears,  mind,  I'm  going  anyway.  I'll  just 
count  three,  and  you  both  say  '  yes '  together." 

She  counted  deliberately,  solemnly,  but  there  was 
a  twinkle  in  her  brown  eyes. 

"  One — two — three !  " 

And  a  simultaneous  "  Yes "  came  as  surely  as 
though  neither  had  any  objection  to  the  whole  pro- 
ceeding. And  furthermore,  both  men  joined  in  the 
girl's  laugh  when  they  realized  how  they  had  been 
cajoled.  To  them  she  was  quite  irresistible. 

"  I  don't  know  whatever  your  aunt  will  say,"  her 
uncle  said  lugubriously. 

"  It's  not  so  much  what  she'll  say  as — as  what 
may  happen  up  there,"  protested  Dave,  his  con- 
science still  pricking  him. 

But  the  girl  would  have  no  more  of  it. 

"You  are  two  dear  old — yes,  'old' — sillies. 
Now,  Dave,  the  mills  !  " 

Betty  carried  all  before  her  with  these  men  who 
were  little  better  than  her  slaves.  They  obeyed 
her  lightest  command  hardly  knowing  they  obeyed 
it.  Her  uncle's  authority,  whilst  fully  acknowledged 
by  her,  was  practically  non-existent.  Her  loyalty 
to  him  and  her  love  for  both  her  guardians  left  no 
room  for  the  exercise  of  authority.  And  Dave — 
well,  he  was  her  adviser  in  all  things,  and  like  most 
people  who  have  an  adviser,  Betty  went  her  own 
sweet  way,  but  in  such  a  manner  that  made  the 
master  of  the  mills  believe  that  his  help  and  advice 
were  practically  indispensable  to  her. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE   MILLS 

DAVE  obediently  led  the  way  out  of  the  tally 
room  to  the  great  milling  floor,  and  at  once  they 
were  in  the  heart  of  his  world. 

It  was  by  no  means  new  to  Betty ;  she  had  seen 
it  all  before,  but  never  had  the  mills  been  driven  at 
such  a  pressure  as  now,  and  the  sensation  the 
knowledge  gave  her  was  one  which  demanded  the 
satisfaction  of  optical  demonstration.  She  was 
thrilled  with  a  sense  of  emergency.  The  roar  of 
the  machinery  carried  with  it  a  meaning  it  had 
never  held  before.  There  was  a  current  of  excite- 
ment in  the  swift,  skilful  movements  of  the  sawyers 
as  they  handled  the  mighty  logs. 

To  her  stirred  imagination  there  was  a  sugges- 
tion of  superhuman  agency,  of  some  nether  world, 
in  the  yellow  light  of  the  flares  which  lit  that  vast 
sea  of  moving  rollers.  As  she  gazed  out  across  it 
at  the  dim,  distant  corners  she  felt  as  though  at  any 
moment  the  machinery  might  suddenly  become 
manned  by  hundreds  of  hideous  gnomes,  such  as 
she  had  read  of  in  the  fairy  tales.  Yet  it  was  all 
real,  real  and  human,  and  Dave  was  the  man  who 
controlled,  whose  brain  and  eyes  watched  over 
every  detail,  whose  wonderful  skill  and  power  were 
carrying  that  colossal  work  to  the  goal  of  success. 


THE  MILLS  181 

As  she  looked,  she  sighed.  She  envied  the  man 
whose  genius  had  made  all  this  possible. 

Above  the  roar  Dave's  voice  reached  her. 

"  This  is  only  part  of  it,"  he  said ;  "  come  below." 

And  she  followed  him  to  the  spiral  iron  staircase 
which  led  to  the  floor  below.  Her  uncle  brought 
up  the  rear. 

At  ordinary  times  the  lower  part  of  the  mills  was 
given  over  to  the  shops  for  the  manufacture  of 
smaller  lumber,  building  stuff,  doors  and  windows, 
flooring,  and  tongue  and  groove.  Betty  knew  this. 
She  knew  every  shop  by  heart,  just  as  she  knew 
most  of  the  workmen  by  sight.  But  now  it  was  all 
changed.  The  partitions  had  been  torn  down,  and 
the  whole  thrown  into  one  floor.  It  was  a  replica 
of  the  milling  floor  above. 

Here  again  were  the  everlasting  rollers ;  here 
again  were  the  tremendous  logs  traveling  across 
and  across  the  floor ;  here  again  were  the  roar  and 
shriek  of  the  gleaming  saws.  The  girl's  enthusiasm 
rose.  Her  eyes  wandered  from  the  fascinating 
spectacle  to  the  giant  at  her  side.  She  felt  a  lump 
rise  in  her  throat ;  she  wanted  to  laugh,  she  wanted 
to  cry ;  but  she  did  neither.  Only  her  eyes  shone 
as  she  gazed  at  him ;  and  his  plainness  seemed  to 
fall  from  him.  She  saw  the  man  standing  at  her 
side,  but  the  great  ungainly  Dave  had  gone,  leav- 
ing in  his  place  only  such  a  hero  as  her  glowing 
heart  could  create. 

They  stood  there  watching,  watching.  None  of 
the  three  spoke.  None  of  them  had  any  words. 


182  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

Dave  saw  and  thought.  His  great  unimaginative 
head  had  no  care  for  the  picture  side  of  it.  His 
eyes  were  on  the  sawyers,  most  of  them  stripped  to 
the  waist  in  the  heat  of  their  labors  in  the  summer 
night.  To  him  the  interest  of  the  scene  lay  in  the 
precision  and  regularity  with  which  log  followed 
log  over  the  rollers,  and  the  skill  with  which  they 
were  cut 

Parson  Tom,  with  a  little  more  imagination,  built 
up  in  his  mind  the  future  prosperity  of  their  be- 
loved valley,  and  thanked  the  Almighty  Providence 
that  It  had  sent  them  such  a  man  as  Dave.  But 
Betty,  in  spite  of  her  practical  brain,  lost  sight  of 
all  the  practical  side  of  the  work.  As  she  watched 
she  was  living  in  such  a  dream  as  only  comes  once 
in  a  lifetime  to  any  woman.  At  that  moment  her 
crown  of  glory  was  set  upon  Dave's  rough  head. 
All  she  had  hoped  for,  striven  for  all  her  life 
seemed  so  small  at  the  thought  of  him.  And  the 
delight  of  those  moments  became  almost  painful. 
She  had  always  looked  upon  him  as  "  her  Dave," 
her  beloved  "  chum,"  her  adviser,  her  prop  to  lean 
on  at  all  times.  But  no.  No,  no ;  he  was  well  and 
truly  named.  He  was  no  one's  Dave.  He  was 
just  Dave  of  the  Mills. 

They  moved  on  to  a  small  doorway,  and  passing 
along  a  protected  gallery  they  worked  their  way 
toward  the  "  boom."  The  place  was  a  vast  back- 
water of  the  river,  enlarged  to  accommodate 
millions  of  feet  of  logs.  It  was  packed  with  a  mass 
of  tumbled  lumber,  over  which,  in  the  dim  light 


THE  MILLS  183 

thrown  by  waste  fire,  a  hundred  and  more  "jacks  " 
could  be  seen,  clambering  like  a  colony  of 
monkeys,  pushing,  prizing,  easing,  pulling  with 
their  peaveys  to  get  the  logs  freed,  so  that  the 
grappling  tackle  could  seize  and  haul  them  up  out 
of  the  water  to  the  milling  floors  above. 

Here  again  they  paused  and  silently  gazed  at  the 
stupendous  work  going  on.  There  was  no  more 
room  for  wonder  either  in  the  girl  or  her  uncle. 
The  maximum  had  been  reached.  They  could 
only  silently  stare. 

Dave  was  the  first  to  move.  His  keen  eyes  had 
closely  watched  the  work.  He  had  seen  log  after 
log  fly  up  in  the  grapple  of  the  hydraulic  cranes,  he 
had  seen  them  shot  into  the  gaping  jaws  of  the 
building,  he  had  seen  that  not  an  idle  hand  was 
down  there  in  the  boom,  and  he  was  satisfied. 
Now  he  wanted  to  go  on. 

"  There's  the  '  waste,'  "  he  said  casually.  "  But  I 
guess  you've  seen  that  heaps,  only  it's  a  bit  bigger 
now,  and  we've  had  to  build  two  more  '  feeders.'  " 

Betty  answered  him,  and  her  tone  was  unusually 
subdued. 

"  Let's  see  it  all,  Dave,"  she  said,  almost  humbly. 

All  her  imperiousness  had  gone,  and  in  its  place 
was  an  ecstatic  desire  to  see  all  and  anything  that 
owed  its  existence  to  this  man. 

Dave  strode  on.  He  was  quite  unconscious  of 
the  change  that  had  taken  place  in  Betty's 
thoughts  of  him.  To  him  these  things  had  be- 
come every-day  matters  of  his  work.  They  meant 


184          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

no  more  to  him  than  the  stepping-stones  toward 
success  which  every  one  who  makes  for  achieve- 
ment has  to  tread. 

Their  way  took  them  up  another  iron  staircase 
outside  the  main  building.  At  the  top  of  it  was  an 
iron  gallery,  which  passed  round  two  angles  of  the 
mill,  and  terminated  at  the  three  feeders,  stretching 
out  from  the  mills  to  the  great  waste  fire  a  hundred 
yards  away.  From  this  gallery  there  was  an 
inspiring  view  of  the  "  everlasting "  fire.  It  had 
been  lit  when  the  mill  first  started  its  operations 
years  ago,  and  had  been  burning  steadily  ever  since ; 
and  so  it  would  go  on  burning  as  long  as  the  saws 
inside  continued  to  rip  the  logs. 

The  feeders  were  three  shafts,  supported  on  iron 
trestle  work,  each  carrying  an  ever-moving,  endless 
bed  on  which  the  waste  trimmings  of  the  logs  were 
thrown.  These  were  borne  upward  and  outward 
for  a  hundred  yards  till  the  shafts  hung  high  above 
the  blazing  mass.  Here  the  endless  band  doubled 
under,  and  its  burden  was  precipitated  below,  where 
it  was  promptly  devoured  by  the  insatiable  flames. 

For  some  moments  they  watched  the  great 
timber  pass  on  its  way  to  the  fire,  and  so  appalling 
appeared  the  waste  that  Parson  Tom  protested. 

"  This  seems  to  me  positively  wanton,"  he  said. 
"  Why,  the  stuff  you're  sending  on  to  that  fire  is 
perfect  lumber.  At  the  worst,  what  grand  fuel  it 
would  make  for  the  villagers." 

Dave  nodded  his  great  head.  He  often  felt  the 
same  about  it. 


THE  MILLS  185 

"  Makes  you  sicken  some  to  see  it  go,  doesn't 
it  ? "  he  said  regretfully.  "  It  does  me.  But  say, 
we've  got  a  waste  yard  full,  and  the  folks  in 
Malkern  are  welcome  to  all  they  can  haul  away. 
Even  Mary  uses  it  in  her  stoves,  but  they  can't 
haul  or  use  it  fast  enough.  If  it  wasn't  for  this  fire 
there  wouldn't  be  room  for  a  rat  in  Malkern  inside 
a  year.  Guess  it's  got  to  be,  more's  the  pity." 

There  was  no  more  to  be  said,  and  the  three 
watched  the  fire  in  silent  awe.  It  was  a  marvelous 
sight.  The  dull  red-yellow  light  shone  luridly  over 
everything.  The  mill  on  the  one  hand  loomed 
majestically  out  of  the  dark  background  of  night. 
The  fire,  over  forty  feet  in  height,  lit  the  buildings 
in  a  curious,  uncanny  fashion,  throwing  grotesque 
and  lurid  shadows  in  every  direction.  Then  all 
around,  on  the  farther  sides,  spread  the  distant  dark 
outline  of  ghostly  pine  woods,  whose  native  gloom 
resisted  a  light,  which,  by  contrast,  was  so  insig- 
nificantly artificial.  It  gave  a  weird  impression 
that  had  a  strong  effect  upon  Betty's  rapt  imagina- 
tion. 

Dave  again  broke  the  spell.  He  could  not  spare 
too  much  time,  and,  as  they  moved  away,  Betty 
sighed. 

"  It's  all  very,  very  wonderful,"  she  said,  moving 
along  at  his  side.  ••  And  to  think  even  in  winter, 
no  matter  what  the  snowfall,  that  fire  never  goes 
out." 

Dave  laughed. 

"  If  it  rained  like  it's  been  raining  to-day  for  six 


1 86          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

months,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  guess  it  could  raise 
more  than  a  splutter."  Then  he  turned  to  Tom 
Chepstow.  "  Is  there  anything  else  you'd  like  to 
see  ?  You've  got  three  hours  to  midnight." 

But  the  parson  had  seen  enough ;  and  as  he  had 
yet  to  overhaul  the  supplies  he  was  to  take  up  to 
the  hill  camps,  they  made  their  way  back  to  the 
tally  room.  At  the  rollers  on  which  Mansell  was 
working  Dave  paused  with  Betty,  while  her  uncle 
went  on. 

They  watched  a  great  log  appear  at  the  opening 
over  the  boom.  The  chains  of  the  hydraulic  crane 
creaked  under  their  burden.  Dave  pointed  at  it 
silhouetted  against  the  light  of  the  waste  fire  be- 
yond. 

"  Watch  him,"  he  said.     "  That's  Dick  Mansell." 

The  pride  in  his  tone  was  amply  justified.  Man- 
sell  was  at  the  opening,  waiting,  peavey  in  hand. 
They  saw  the  log  dripping  and  swaying  as  it  was 
hauled  up  until  its  lower  end  cleared  the  rollers. 
On  the  instant  the  sawyer  leant  forward  and 
plunged  his  hook  into  the  soft  pine  bark.  Then  he 
strained  steadily  and  the  log  came  slowly  onward. 
A  whistle,  and  the  crane  was  eased  an  inch  at  a 
time.  The  man  held  his  strain,  and  the  end 
lowered  ever  further  over  the  rollers  until  it 
touched.  Two  more  whistles,  and  the  log  was 
lowered  faster  until  it  lay  exactly  horizontal,  and 
then  the  rollers  carried  it  in.  Once  its  balance  was 
passed,  the  sawyer  struck  the  grappling  chains 
loose  with  his  peavey,  and,  with  a  rattle,  they  fell 


THE  MILLS  187 

clear,  while  the  prostrate  giant  lumbered  ponder- 
ously into  the  mill. 

It  was  all  done  so  swiftly. 

Now  Mansell  sprang  to  the  foremost  end  and 
chalked  the  log  as  it  traveled.  Then,  like  a  cat,  he 
sprang  to  the  rear  of  it  and  measured  with  his  eye. 
Dissatisfied,  he  ran  to  its  side  and  prized  it  into  a 
fresh  position,  glancing  down  it,  much  as  a  rifleman 
might  glance  over  his  sights.  Satisfied  at  length, 
he  ran  on  ahead  of  the  moving  log  to  his  saws. 
Throwing  over  a  lever,  he  quickened  the  pace  of 
the  gleaming  blade.  On  came  the  log.  The 
yielding  wood  met  the  merciless  fangs  of  the  saw 
upon  the  chalk  line,  and  passed  hissing  and  shriek- 
ing on  its  way  as  though  it  had  met  with  no  ob- 
struction. 

The  girl  took  a  deep  breath. 

"  Splendid,"  she  cried.  Well  as  she  knew  this 
work,  to-night  it  appealed  to  her  with  a  new  force, 
a  deeper  and  more  personal  interest. 

"Easy  as  pie,"  Dave  laughed.  Then  more 
seriously,  "  Yet  it's  dangerous  as — as  hell." 

Betty  nodded.     She  knew. 

"But  you  don't  have  many  accidents,  thank 
goodness." 

Dave  shrugged. 

"  Not  many — considering.  But  you  don't  often 
see  a  sawyer  with  perfectly  sound  hands.  There's 
generally  something  missing." 

"  I  know.  Look  at  Mansell's  arm  there."  Betty 
pointed  at  a  deep  furrow  on  the  man's  forearm. 


188          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

"  Yes,  Mansell's  been  through  it.  I  remember 
when  he  got  that.  Like  an  Indian  holds  his  first 
scalp  as  a  sign  of  his  prowess,  or  the  knights  of  old 
wore  golden  spurs  as  an  emblem  of  their  knight- 
hood, the  sawyer  minus  a  finger  or  so  has  been  liter- 
ally '  through  the  mill/  and  can  claim  proficiency  in 
his  calling.  But  those  are  not  the  dangers  I  was 
figgering  on." 

Betty  waited  for  him  to  go  on. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  solemnly.  "  It's  the  breaking 
saw.  That's  the  terror  of  a  sawyer's  life.  And  just 
now  of  mine.  It's  always  in  the  back  of  my  head 
like  a  black  shadow.  One  breaking  saw  would  do 
more  damage  cutting  up  this  big  stuff  than  it  would 
take  a  fire  to  do  in  an  hour.  It  would  be  the  next 
best  thing  to  bursting  a  charge  of  dynamite.  Take 
this  saw  of  Mansell's.  A  break,  a  bend  out  of  the 
truth,  the  log  slips  while  it's  being  cut.  Any  01 
these  things.  You  wouldn't  think  a '  ninety- footer' 
could  be  thrown  far.  If  any  of  those  things  hap- 
pened, good-bye  to  anything  or  anybody  with 
whom  it  came  into  contact.  But  we  needn't  to 
worry.  Let's  get  in  there  to  your  uncle." 


CHAPTER  XV 

BETTY   TAKES   COVER 

IN  the  office  they  found  Parson  Tom  at  work 
with  pencil  and  note-book.  The  latter  he  closed  as 
they  came  in. 

"  For  goodness'  sake  shut  that  door  behind  you," 
he  laughed.  "  I've  been  trying  to  think  of  the 
things  I  need  for  my  journey  to-night,  but  that  up- 
roar makes  it  well-nigh  impossible." 

The  words  brought  Betty  back  to  matters  of  the 
moment.  Everything  had  been  forgotten  in  the 
interest  of  her  tour  of  the  mills  at  Dave's  side. 
Now  she  realized  that  time  was  short,  and  she  too 
must  make  her  preparations. 

Dave  closed  the  door. 

"  We'd  best  get  down  to  the  barn  and  fix  things 
there,"  he  said.  "  Then  you  can  get  right  back 
home  and  arrange  matters  with  Mary.  Betty  could 
go  on  and  prepare  her." 

The  girl  nodded  her  approval. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  and  I  can  get  my  own  things 
together." 

Both  men  looked  at  her. 

She  answered  their  challenge  at  once,  but  now 
there  was  a  great  change  in  her  manner.  She  no 
longer  laughed  at  them.  She  no  longer  carried 
things  with  a  high  hand.  She  intended  going  up 


190          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

to  the  camps,  but  it  almost  seemed  as  though  she 
desired  their  justification  to  support  her  decision. 
Somehow  that  tour  of  the  mills  at  Dave's  side  had 
lessened  her  belief  in  herself. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  know  neither  of  you  wants 
me  to  go.  Perhaps,  from  your  masculine  point 
of  view,  you  are  both  right.  But — but  I  want  to 
go.  I  do  indeed.  This  is  no  mere  whim.  Uncle, 
speak  up  and  admit  the  necessity  for  nursing. 
Who  on  earth  is  up  there  to  do  it  ?  No  one." 

Then  she  turned  to  Dave,  and  her  earnest  eyes 
were  full  of  almost  humble  entreaty. 

"  You  won't  refuse  me,  Dave  ?  "  she  said.  "  I 
feel  I  must  go.  I  feel  that  some  one,  some  strange 
voice,  is  calling  to  me  to  go.  That  my  presence 
there  is  needed.  I  am  only  a  woman,  and  in  these 
big  schemes  of  yours  it  is  ridiculous  to  think  that  I 

should  play  a  part  Yet  somehow — somehow 

Oh,  Dave,  won't  you  let  me  help,  if  only  in  this 
small  way  ?  It  will  be  something  for  me  to  look 
back  upon  when  you  have  succeeded ;  something 
for  me  to  cherish,  this  thought  that  I  have  helped 
you  even  in  so  small  a  way.  You  won't  refuse  me. 
It  is  so  little  to  you,  and  it  means  so — so  much  to 
me." 

Her  uncle  was  watching  the  grave  face  of  the 
lumberman ;  and  when  she  finished  he  waited, 
smiling,  for  the  effect  of  her  appeal. 

It  was  some  moments  before  Dave  answered. 
Betty's  eyes  were  shining  with  eager  hope,  and  at 
last  her  impatience  got  the  better  of  her. 


BETTY  TAKES  COVER  191 

"  You  said  '  yes  '  once  to-night,"  she  urged  softly. 

Her  uncle's  smile  broadened.  He  was  glad  the 
onus  of  this  thing  was  on  the  broad  shoulders  of 
his  friend. 

"  Betty,"  said  Dave  at  last,  looking  squarely  into 
her  eyes,  "  will  you  promise  me  to  keep  to  the  sick 
camps,  and  not  go  about  amongst  the  '  jacks  '  who 
aren't  sick  without  your  uncle?" 

There  was  something  in  the  man's  eyes  which 
made  the  girl  drop  hers  suddenly.  She  colored 
slightly,  perhaps  with  vexation.  She  somehow  felt 
awkward.  And  she  had  never  felt  awkward  with 
Dave  in  her  life  before.  However,  she  answered 
him  gladly. 

"  I  promise — promise  willingly." 

"  Then  I'll  not  go  back  on  my  promise.  Go  and 
get  ready,  little  girl,"  he  said  gently. 

She  waited  for  no  more.  Her  eyes  thanked  him, 
and  for  once,  though  he  never  saw  it,  nor,  if  he  had, 
would  he  have  understood  it,  there  was  a  shyness 
in  them  such  as  had  never  been  there  before. 

As  the  door  closed  behind  her  he  turned  with  a 
sigh  to  his  old  friend. 

"  Well,  Tom,"  he  said,  with  a  dry,  half  regretful 
smile, "  it  strikes  me  there  are  a  pair  of  fools  in  this 
room." 

The  parson  chuckled  delightedly. 

"  But  one  is  bigger  than  the  other.  You  wait 
until  Mary  sees  you.  My  word  ! " 

Betty  hurried  out  of  the  mill.     She  knew  the 


192          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

time  was  all  too  short ;  besides,  she  did  not  want  to 
give  the  men  time  to  change  their  minds.  And 
then  there  was  still  her  aunt  to  appease. 

Outside  in  the  yards  the  thirsty  red  sand  had  en- 
tirely lapped  up  the  day's  rain.  It  was  almost  as 
dry  as  though  the  summer  rains  were  mere  show- 
ers. The  night  was  brilliantly  fine,  and  though  as 
yet  there  was  no  moon,  the  heavens  were  diamond- 
studded,  and  the  milky  way  spread  its  ghostly  path 
sheer  across  the  sky.  Half  running  in  her  eager- 
ness, the  girl  dodged  amongst  the  stacks  of  lumber, 
making  her  way  direct  to  a  point  in  the  fence  near- 
est to  her  home.  To  go  round  to  the  gates  would 
mean  a  long,  circuitous  route  that  would  waste  at 
least  ten  minutes. 

As  she  sped,  the  din  of  the  mill  rapidly  receded, 
and  the  shadows  thrown  by  the  flare  lights  of  the 
yards  behind  her  lengthened  and  died  out,  merged 
in  the  darkness  of  the  night  beyond  their  radiance. 
At  the  fence  she  paused  and  looked  about  for  the 
easiest  place  to  climb.  It  was  high,  and  the  lateral 
rails  were  wide  apart.  It  was  all  the  same  which- 
ever way  she  looked,  so,  taking  her  courage  in 
both  hands,  and  lifting  her  skirts  knee  high,  she  es- 
sayed the  task.  It  was  no  easy  matter,  but  she 
managed  it,  coming  down  on  the  other  side  much 
more  heavily  than  she  cared  about.  Still,  in  her 
excited  state,  she  didn't  pause  to  trouble  about  a 
trifle  like  that. 

She  was  strangely  happy  without  fully  under- 
standing the  reason.  This  trip  to  the  hills  would 


BETTY  TAKES  COVER  195 

be  a  break  in  the  monotony  of  her  daily  routine. 
But  somehow  it  was  not  that  that  elated  her.  She 
loved  her  work,  and  at  no  time  wanted  to  shirk  it. 
No,  it  was  not  that.  Yet  it  was  something  to  do 
with  her  going.  Something  to  do  with  the  hill 
camps ;  something  to  do  with  helping — Dave — ah  I 
Yes,  it  was  that.  She  knew  it  now,  and  the  knowl- 
edge thrilled  her  with  a  feeling  she  had  never  before 
experienced. 

Her  course  took  her  through  a  dense  clump  of 
pine  woods.  She  was  far  away  from  the  direct 
trail,  but  she  knew  every  inch  of  the  way. 

Somehow  she  felt  glad  of  the  cool  darkness  of 
those  woods.  Their  depth  of  shadow  swallowed 
her  up  and  hid  her  from  all  the  rest  of  the  world, 
and,  for  the  moment,  it  was  good  to  be  alone.  She 
liked  the  feeling  that  no  one  was  near  her — not 
even  Dave.  She  wanted  to  think  it  all  out.  She 
wanted  to  understand  herself.  This  delight  that 
had  come  to  her,  this  joy.  Dave  had  promised  to 
let  her  help  him  in  his  great  work.  It  was  too 
good  to  be  true.  How  she  would  work.  Yes,  she 
would  strain  every  nerve  to  nurse  the  men  back  to 
health,  so  that  there  should  be  no  check  in  the 
work. 

Suddenly  she  paused  in  her  thought.  Her  heart 
seemed  to  stand  still,  then  its  thumping  almost 
stifled  her.  She  had  realized  her  true  motive. 
Yes,  she  knew  it  now.  It  was  not  the  poor  sick 
men  she  was  thinking  of.  She  was  not  thinking  of 
her  uncle,  who  would  be  slaving  for  sheer  love  of 


194          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

his  fellow  men.  No,  it  was  of  Dave  she  was  think- 
ing. Dave — her  Dave. 

Now  she  knew.  She  loved  him.  She  felt  it 
here,  here,  and  she  pressed  both  hands  over  her 
heart,  which  was  beating  tumultuously  and  thrilling 
with  an  emotion  such  as  she  had  never  known  be- 
fore. Never,  even  in  the  days  when  she  had  be- 
lieved herself  in  love  with  Jim  Truscott.  She 
wanted  to  laugh,  to  cry  aloud  her  happiness  to  the 
dark  woods  which  crowded  round  her.  She  wanted 
to  tell  all  the  world.  She  wanted  everything  about 
her  to  know  of  it,  to  share  in  it.  Oh,  how  good 
God  was  to  her.  She  knew  that  she  loved  Dave. 
Loved  him  with  a  passion  that  swept  every  thought 
of  herself  from  her  fevered  brain.  She  wanted  to 
be  his  slave ;  his — his  all. 

Suddenly  her  passion-swept  thoughts  turned 
hideously  cold.  What  of  Dave  ?  Did  he  ? — could 
he  ?  No,  he  looked  upon  her  as  his  little  "  chum  " 
and  nothing  more.  How  could  it  be  otherwise  ? 
Had  he  not  witnessed  her  betrothal  to  Jim 
Truscott  ?  Had  he  not  been  at  her  side  when  she 
renounced  him  ?  Had  he  not  always  looked  after 
her  as  an  elder  brother  ?  Had  he 

She  came  to  a  dead  standstill  in  the  heart  of  the 
woods,  gripped  by  a  fear  that  had  nothing  to  do 
with  her  thoughts.  It  was  the  harsh  sound  of  a 
voice.  And  it  was  just  ahead  of  her.  It  rang 
ominously  in  her  ears  at  such  an  hour,  and  in  such 
a  place.  She  listened.  Who  could  be  in  those 
woods  at  that  hour  of  the  night  ?  Who  beside  her- 


BETTY  TAKES  COVER  195 

self?  The  voice  was  so  distinct  that  she  felt  it 
must  be  very,  very  near.  Then  she  remembered 
how  the  woods  echo,  particularly  at  night,  and  a 
shiver  of  fear  swept  over  her  at  the  thought  that 
perhaps  the  sound  of  her  own  footsteps  had  reached 
the  ears  of  the  owner  of  the  voice.  She  had  no  de- 
sire to  encounter  any  drunken  lumber-jacks  in  such 
a  place.  Her  heart  beat  faster,  as  she  cast  about  in 
her  mind  for  the  best  thing  to  do. 

The  voice  she  had  first  heard  now  gave  place  to 
another,  which  she  instantly  recognized.  The  rec- 
ognition shocked  her  violently.  There  could  be 
no  mistaking  the  second  voice.  It  was  Jim  Trus- 
cott's.  Hardly  knowing  what  she  did,  she  stepped 
behind  a  tree  and  waited. 

"  I  can't  get  the  other  thing  working  yet,"  she 
heard  Truscott  say  in  a  tone  of  annoyance.  "  It's  a 
job  that  takes  longer  than  I  figured  on.  Now,  see 
here,  you've  got  to  get  busy  right  away.  We  must 
get  the  brakes  on  him  right  now.  My  job  will 
~ome  on  later,  and  be  the  final  check.  That's  why 
I  wanted  you  to-night." 

Then  came  the  other  voice,  and,  to  the  listening 
girl,  its  harsh  note  had  in  it  a  surly  discontent  that 
almost  amounted  to  open  rebellion. 

"  Say,  that  ain't  how  you  said,  Jim.  We  fixed 
it  so  I  hadn't  got  to  do  a  thing  till  you'd  played 
your  '  hand.'  Play  it,  an'  if  you  fail  clear  out,  then 
it's  right  up  to  me,  an'  I'll  stick  to  the  deal." 

Enlightenment  was  coming  to  Betty.  This  was 
some  gambling  plot.  She  knew  Jim's  record. 


196          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

Some  poor  wretch  was  to  be  robbed.  The  other 
man  was  of  course  a  confederate.  But  Jim  was 
talking  again.  Now  his  voice  was  commanding, 
even  threatening. 

"  This  is  no  damned  child's  play ;  we're  going  to 
have  no  quibbling.  You  want  that  money,  Man- 
sell,  and  you've  got  to  earn  it.  It's  the  spirit  of  the 
bargain  I  want,  not  the  letter.  Maybe  you're 
weakening.  Maybe  you're  scared.  Damn  it, 
man  !  it's  the  simplest  thing — do  as  I  say  and — 
the  money's  yours." 

At  the  mention  of  the  man's  name  Betty  was 
filled  with  wonder.  She  had  seen  Mansell  at  work 
in  the  mill.  The  night  shift  was  not  relieved  until 
six  o'clock  in  the  morning.  How  then  came 
he  there  ?  What  was  he  doing  in  company  with 
Jim? 

But  now  the  sawyer's  voice  was  raised  in  down- 
right anger,  and  the  girl's  alarm  leapt  again. 

"  I  said  I'd  stick  to  the  deal,"  he  cried.  Then  he 
added  doggedly,  "  And  a  deal's  a  deal." 

Jim's  reply  followed  in  a  much  lower  key,  and 
she  had  to  strain  to  hear. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  be  fooled  by  you,"  he  said. 
"You'll  do  this  job  when  I  say.  When  I  say, 
mind " 

But  at  this  point  his  voice  dropped  so  low  that 
the  rest  was  lost.  And  though  Betty  strained  to 
catch  the  words,  only  the  drone  of  the  voices 
reached  her.  Presently  even  that  ceased.  Then 
she  heard  the  sound  of  footsteps  receding  in  differ- 


BETTY  TAKES  COVER  197 

ent  directions,  and  she  knew  the  men  had  parted. 
When  the  silence  of  the  woods  had  swallowed  up 
the  last  sound  she  set  off  at  a  run  for  home. 

She  thought  a  great  deal  about  that  mysterious 
encounter  on  her  way.  It  was  mysterious,  she 
decided.  She  wondered  what  she  should  do  about 
it.  These  men  were  plotting  to  cheat  and  rob 
some  of  Dave's  lumber-jacks.  Wasn't  it  her  duty 
to  try  and  stop  them?  She  was  horrified  at  the 
thought  of  the  depths  to  which  Jim  had  sunk.  It 
was  all  so  paltry,  so — so  mean. 

Then  the  strangeness  of  the  place  they  had 
selected  for  their  meeting  struck  her.  Why  those 
woods,  so  remote  from  the  village  ?  A  moment's 
thought  solved  the  matter  to  her  own  satisfaction. 
No  doubt  Mansell  had  made  some  excuse  to  leave 
the  mill  for  a  few  minutes,  and  in  order  not  to  pro- 
long his  absence  too  much,  Jim  had  come  out  from 
the  village  to  meet  him.  Yes,  that  was  reasonable. 

Finally  she  decided  to  tell  Dave  and  her  uncle. 
Dave  would  find  a  way  of  stopping  them.  Trust 
him  for  that.  He  could  always  deal  with  such 
things  better — yes,  even  better  than  her  uncle,  she 
admitted  to  herself  in  her  new-born  pride  in  him. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  twinkling  lights  through 
the  trees  showed  her  her  destination.  Another 
few  minutes  and  she  was  explaining  to  her  aunt 
that  she  was  off  to  the  hill  camps  nursing.  As 
had  been  expected,  her  news  was  badly  received. 

"  It's  bad  enough  that  your  uncle's  got  to  go  in 
the  midst  of  his  pressing  duties,"  Mrs.  Tom  ex- 


198  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

claimed  with  heat.  "  What  about  the  affairs  of  the 
new  church  ?  What  about  the  sick  folk  right  here? 
What  about  old  Mrs.  Styles  ?  She's  likely  to  die 
any  minute.  Who's  to  bury  her  with  him  away  ? 
And  what  about  Sarah  Dingley  ?  She's  haunted — 
delusions — and  there's  no  one  can  pacify  her  but 
him.  And  now  they  must  needs  take  you.  It 
isn't  right.  You  up  there  amongst  all  those  rough 
men.  It's  not  decent.  It's " 

"  I  know,  auntie,"  Betty  broke  in.  "  It's  all  you 
say.  But — but  think  of  those  poor  helpless  sick 
men  up  there,  with  no  comfort.  They've  just  got 
to  lie  about  and  either  get  well,  or — or  die.  No 
one  to  care  for  them.  No  one  to  write  a  last  letter 
to  their  friends  for  them.  No  one  to  see  they  get 
proper  food,  and " 

41  Stuff  and  nonsense ! "  her  aunt  exclaimed. 
"  Now  you,  Betty,  listen  to  me.  Go,  if  go  you 
must.  I'll  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  It's  not 
with  my  consent  you'll  go.  And  some  one  is  go- 
ing to  hear  what  I  think  about  it,  even  if  he  does 
run  the  Malkern  Mills.  If — if  Dave  wasn't  so  big, 
and  such  a  dear  good  fellow,  I'd  like — yes,  I'd  like 
to  box  his  ears.  Be  off  with  you  and  see  to  your 
packing,  miss,  and  don't  forget  your  thickest 
flannels.  Those  mountains  are  terribly  cold  at 
nights,  even  in  summer."  Then,  as  the  girl  ran  off 
to  her  room,  she  exploded  in  a  final  burst  of  anger. 
"  Well  there,  they're  all  fools,  and  I've  no  patience 
with  any  of  'em." 

It  did  not  take  long  for  Betty  to  get  her  few 


BETTY  TAKES  COVER  199 

things  together  and  pitch  them  into  a  grip.  The 
barest  necessities  were  all  she  required,  and  her 
practical  mind  guided  her  instinctively.  Her  task 
was  quite  completed  when,  ten  minutes  later,  she 
heard  the  rattle  of  buckboard  wheels  and  her 
uncle's  cheery  voice  down-stairs  in  the  parlor. 

Then  she  hurried  across  to  her  aunt's  room. 
She  knew  her  uncle  so  well.  He  wouldn't  bother 
to  pack  anything  for  himself.  She  dragged  a  large 
kit  bag  from  under  the  bed,  and,  ransacking  the 
bureau,  selected  what  she  considered  the  most 
necessary  things  for  his  comfort  and  flung  them 
into  it.  It  was  all  done  with  the  greatest  possible 
haste,  and  by  the  time  she  had  everything  ready, 
her  uncle  joined  her  and  carried  the  grips  down- 
stairs. In  the  meantime  Mary  Chepstow,  all  her 
anger  passed,  was  busily  loading  the  little  table 
with  an  ample  supper.  She  might  disapprove  her 
niece's  going,  she  might  resent  the  sudden  call  on 
her  husband,  but  she  would  see  them  both  amply 
fed  before  starting,  and  that  the  buckboard  was 
well  provisioned  for  the  road. 

For  the  most  part  supper  was  eaten  in  silence. 
These  people  were  so  much  in  the  habit  of  doing 
for  others,  so  many  calls  were  made  upon  them, 
that  such  an  occasion  as  this  presented  little  in  the 
way  of  emergency.  It  was  their  life  to  help  others, 
their  delight,  and  their  creed.  And  Mary's  protest 
meant  no  more  than  words,  she  only  hesitated  at 
the  thought  of  Betty's  going  amongst  these  rough 
lumber-jacks.  But  even  this,  on  reflection,  was  not 


200          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

so  terrible  as  she  at  first  thought.  Betty  was  an 
unusual  girl,  and  she  expected  the  unusual  from 
her.  So  she  put  her  simple  trust  in  the  Almighty, 
and  did  all  she  knew  to  help  them. 

It  was  not  until  the  meal  was  nearly  over  that 
Chepstow  imparted  a  piece  of  news  he  had  gleaned 
on  his  way  from  the  mill.  He  suddenly  looked  up 
from  his  plate,  and  his  eyes  sought  his  niece's  face. 
She  was  lost  in  a  happy  contemplation  of  the 
events  of  that  night  at  the  mill.  All  her  thoughts, 
all  her  soul  was,  at  that  moment,  centred  upon 
Dave.  Now  her  uncle's  voice  startled  her  into  a 
self-conscious  blush. 

"  Who  d'you  think  I  met  on  my  way  up  here  ?  " 
he  inquired,  searching  her  face. 

Betty  answered  him  awkwardly.  "I — I  don't 
know,"  she  said. 

Her  uncle  reached  for  the  salad,  and  helped  him- 
self deliberately  before  he  enlightened  her  further. 

"  Jim  Truscott,"  he  said  at  last,  without  looking 
up. 

"  Jim  Truscott  ? "  exclaimed  Aunt  Mary,  her 
round  eyes  wondering.  Then  she  voiced  a  thought 
which  had  long  since  passed  from  her  niece's  mind. 
"  What  was  he  doing  out  here  at  this  hour  of  the 
night  ?  " 

The  parson  shrugged. 

"  It  seems  he  was  waiting  for  me.  He  didn't 
call  here,  I  s'pose  ?  " 

Mary  shook  her  head.  Betty  was  waiting  to 
hear  more. 


BETTY  TAKES  COVER  201 

"  I  feel  sorry  for  him,"  he  went  on.  "  I'm  in- 
clined to  think  we've  judged  him  harshly.  I'm  sure 
we  have.  It  only  goes  to  show  how  poor  and 
weak  our  efforts  are  to  understand  and  help  our  fel- 
lows. He  is  very,  very  repentant.  Poor  fellow,  I 
have  never  seen  any  one  so  down  on  his  luck.  He 
doesn't  excuse  himself.  In  fact,  he  blames  himself 
even  more  than  we  have  done." 

"  Poor  fellow,"  murmured  Aunt  Mary. 

Betty  remained  silent,  and  her  uncle  went  on. 

"  He's  off  down  east  to  make  a  fresh  start.  He 
was  waiting  to  tell  me  so.  He  also  wanted  to  tell 
me  how  sorry  he  was  for  his  behavior  to  us,  to  you, 
Betty,  and  he  trusted  you  would  find  it  possible  to 
forgive  him,  and  think  better  of  him  when  he  was 
gone.  I  never  saw  a  fellow  so  cut  up.  It  was 
quite  pitiful." 

"  When's  he  going  ?  "  Betty  suddenly  asked,  and 
there  was  a  hardness  in  her  voice  which  startled  her 
uncle. 

"  That  doesn't  sound  like  forgiveness,"  he  said. 
"  Don't  you  think,  my  dear,  if  he's  trying  to  da 
better  you  might " 

Betty  smiled  into  the  earnest  face. 

"  Yes,  uncle,  I  forgive  him  everything,  freely, 
gladly — if  he  is  going  to  start  afresh." 

"  Doubt  ?  " 

But  Betty  still  had  that  conversation  in  the  woods 
in  her  mind. 

"  I  mustn't  judge  him.  His  own  future  actions 
are  all  that  matter.  The  past  is  gone,  and  can  be 


202  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

wiped  out.  I  would  give  a  lot  to  see  him — right 
himself." 

"  That  is  the  spirit,  dear,"  Aunt  Mary  put  in. 
*'  Your  uncle  is  quite  right :  we  must  forgive  him." 

Betty  nodded;  but  remained  silent.  She  was 
half  inclined  to  tell  them  all  she  had  heard,  but  it 
occurred  to  her  that  perhaps  she  had  interpreted  it 
all  wrong — and  yet — anyway,  if  he  were  sincere,  if 
he  really  meant  all  he  had  said  to  her  uncle  she 
must  not,  had  no  right  to  do,  or  say,  anything  that 
could  prejudice  him.  So  she  kept  silent,  and  her 
uncle  went  on. 

"  He's  off  to-morrow  on  the  east-bound  mail. 
That's  why  he  was  waiting  to  see  me  to-night. 
He  told  me  he  had  heard  I  was  going  up  into  the 
hills,  and  waited  to  catch  me  before  I  went.  Said 
he  couldn't  go  away  without  seeing  me  first.  I 
told  him  I  was  going  physicking,  that  the  camps 
were  down  with  fever,  and  the  spread  of  it  might 
seriously  interfere  with  Dave's  work.  He  was  very 
interested,  poor  chap,  and  hoped  all  would  come 
right.  He  spoke  of  Dave  in  the  most  cordial 
terms,  and  wished  he  could  do  something  to  help. 
Of  course,  that's  impossible.  But  I  pointed  out 
that  the  whole  future  of  Malkern,  us  all,  depended 
on  the  work  going  through.  Dave  would  be  sim- 
ply ruined  if  it  didn't.  There's  a  tremendous  lot 
of  good  in  that  boy.  I  always  knew  it.  Once  he 
gets  away  from  this  gambling,  and  cuts  out  the 
whiskey,  he'll  get  right  again.  I  suggested  his 
turning  teetotaler,  and  he  assured  me  he'd  made 


BETTY  TAKES  COVER  203 

up  his  mind  to  it.  Well,  Betty  my  dear,  time's 
up." 

Chepstow  rose  from  the  table  and  filled  his  pipe. 
Betty  followed  him,  and  put  on  her  wraps.  Aunt 
Mary  stood  by  to  help  to  the  last. 

It  was  less  than  an  hour  from  the  time  of  Betty's 
return  home  that  the  final  farewells  were  spoken 
and  the  buckboard  started  back  for  the  mill.  Aunt 
Mary  watched  them  go.  She  saw  them  vanish  into 
the  night,  and  slowly  turned  back  across  the  ve- 
randa into  the  house.  They  were  her  all,  her  loved 
ones.  They  had  gone  for  perhaps  only  a  few 
weeks,  but  their  going  made  her  feel  very  lonely. 
She  gave  a  deep  sigh  as  she  began  to  clear  the  re- 
mains of  the  supper  away.  Then,  slowly,  two  un- 
bidden tears  welled  up  into  her  round,  soft  eyes  and 
rolled  heavily  down  her  plump  cheeks.  Instantly 
she  pulled  herself  together,  and  dashed  her  hand 
across  her  eyes.  And  once  more  the  steady  cour- 
age which  was  the  key-note  of  her  life  asserted  it- 
self. She  could  not  afford  to  give  way  to  any  such 
weakness. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

DISASTER   AT   THE   MILL 

NIGHT  closed  in  leaden-hued.  The  threat  of 
storm  had  early  brought  the  day  to  a  close,  so  that 
the  sunset  was  lost  in  the  massing  clouds  banking 
on  the  western  horizon. 

Summer  was  well  advanced,  and  already  the  lux- 
urious foliage  of  the  valley  was  affected  by  the 
blistering  heat.  The  emerald  of  the  trees  and  the 
grass  had  gained  a  maturer  hue,  and  only  the  darker 
pines  resisted  the  searching  sunlight.  The  valley 
was  full  ripe,  and  kindly  nature  was  about  to  temper 
her  efforts  and  permit  a  breathing  space.  The 
weather-wise  understood  this. 

Dave  was  standing  at  his  office  door  watching 
the  approach  of  the  electric  storm,  preparing  to 
launch  its  thunders  upon  the  valley.  Its  progress 
afforded  him  no  sort  of  satisfaction.  Everybody 
but  himself  wanted  rain.  It  had  already  done  him 
too  much  harm. 

He  was  thinking  of  the  letter  he  had  just  received 
from  Bob  Mason  up  in  the  hills.  Its  contents  were 
so  satisfactory,  and  this  coming  rain  looked  like  un- 
doing the  good  his  staunch  friends  in  the  mountain 
camps  had  so  laboriously  achieved. 

While  Mason  reported  that  the  fever  still  had  the 
upper  hand,  its  course  had  been  checked ;  the  epi- 


DISASTER  AT  THE  MILL  205 

demic  had  been  grappled  with  and  held  within 
bounds.  That  was  sufficiently  satisfactory,  seeing 
Chepstow  had  only  been  up  there  ten  days.  Then, 
too,  Mason  had  had  cause  to  congratulate  himself 
on  another  matter.  A  number  of  recruits  for  his 
work  had  filtered  through  to  his  camps  from 
Heaven  and  themselves  alone  knew  where.  This 
was  quite  good.  These  men  were  not  the  best  of 
lumbermen,  but  under  the  "  camp  boss "  they 
would  help  to  keep  the  work  progressing,  which,  in 
the  circumstances,  was  all  that  could  be  asked. 

A  few  minutes  later  Dave  departed  into  the 
mills.  Since  the  mill  up  the  river  had  been  con- 
verted and  set  to  work,  and  Simon  Odd  had  been 
given  temporary  charge  of  it,  he  shared  with  Daw- 
son  the  work  of  overseeing. 

As  he  mounted  to  the  principal  milling  floor  the 
great  syren  shrieked  out  its  summons  to  the  night 
shift,  and  sent  the  call  echoing  and  reechoing 
down  the  valley.  There  was  no  cessation  of  work. 
The  "  relief"  stood  ready,  and  the  work  was  passed 
on  from  hand  to  hand. 

Dave  saw  his  foreman  standing  close  by  No.  I, 
and  he  recognized  the  relief  as  Mansell.  Dawson 
was  watching  the  man  closely,  and  judging  by  the 
frown  on  his  face,  it  was  plain  that  something  was 
amiss.  He  moved  over  to  him  and  beckoned  him 
into  the  office. 

"  What's  wrong  ?  "  he  demanded,  as  soon  as  the 
door  was  closed. 

Dawson  was  never  the  man  to  choose  his  words 


206          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

when  he  had  a  grievance.  That  was  one  of  the 
reasons  his  employer  liked  him.  He  was  so  rough, 
and  so  straightforward.  He  had  a  grievance  now. 

"  I  ain't  no  sort  o'  use  for  these  schoolhouse 
ways,"  he  said,  with  the  added  force  of  an  oath. 

Dave  waited  for  his  next  attempt. 

"  That  skunk  Mansell.  He's  got  back  to-night. 
He  ain't  been  on  the  time-sheet  for  nigh  to  a 
week." 

"  You  didn't  tell  me?     Still,  he's  back." 

Dave  smiled  into  the  other's  angry  face,  and  his 
manner  promptly  drew  an  explosion  from  the  hot- 
headed foreman. 

"  Yes,  he's  back.  But  he  wouldn't  be  if  I  was 
boss.  That's  the  sort  o'  Sunday-school  racket  I 
ain't  no  use  for.  He's  back,  because  you  say  he's 
to  work  right  along.  Sort  of  to  help  him.  Yes, 
he's  back.  He's  been  fightin'-drunk  fer  six  nights, 
and  I'd  hate  to  say  he's  dead  sober  now." 

"  Yet  you  signed  him  on.     Why?  " 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,  he's  sober,  I  guess.  But  the 
drink's  in  him.  I  tell  you,  boss,  he's  rotten — 
plumb  rotten — when  the  drink's  in  him.  I  know 
him.  Say " 

But  Dave  had  had  enough. 

"  You  say  he's  sober — well,  let  it  go  at  that. 
The  man  can  do  his  work.  That's  the  important 
thing  to  us.  Just  now  we  can't  bother  with  his 
morals.  Still,  you'd  best  keep  an  eye  on  him." 

He  turned  to  his  books,  and  Dawson  busied  him- 
self with  the  checkers'  sheets.  For  some  time  both 


DISASTER  AT  THE  MILL  207 

men  worked  without  exchanging  a  word,  and  the 
only  interruption  was  the  regular  coming  of  the 
tally  boys,  who  brought  the  check  slips  of  the  lum- 
ber measurements. 

Through  the  thin  partitions  the  roar  of  ma- 
chinery was  incessant,  and  at  frequent  intervals  the 
hoarse  shouts  of  the  "  checkers "  reached  them. 
But  this  disturbed  them  not  at  all.  It  was  what 
they  were  used  to,  what  they  liked  to  hear,  for  it 
told  of  the  work  going  forward  without  hitch  of 
any  sort. 

At  last  the  master  of  the  mills  looked  up  from  a 
mass  of  figures.  He  had  been  making  careful  cal- 
culations. 

"  We're  short,  Dawson,"  he  said  briefly. 

"  Short  by  half  a  million  feet,"  the  foreman  re- 
turned, without  even  looking  round. 

"  How's  Odd  doing  up  the  river  ?  " 

"  Good.     The  machinery's  newer,  I  guess." 

"  Yes.  But  we  can't  help  that.  We've  no  time 
for  installing  new  machinery  here.  Besides,  I  can't 
spare  the  capital." 

Dawson  looked  round. 

"  'Tain't  that,"  he  said.  "  We're  short  of  the 
right  stuff  in  the  boom.  Lestways,  we  was  yester- 
day. A  hundred  and  fifty  logs.  We're  doing  bet- 
ter to-day.  Though  not  good  enough.  It's  that 
dogone  fever,  I  guess." 

"  What's  in  the  reserve  ?  " 

"  Fifteen  hundred  logs  now.  I've  drew  on  them 
mighty  heavy.  We've  used  up  that  number  twice 


208  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

over  a' ready.  I'm  scairt  to  draw  further.  You  see, 
it's  a  heap  better  turning  out  short  than  using  up 
that.  If  we're  short  on  the  cut  only  us  knows  it. 
If  we  finish  up  our  reserve,  and  have  to  shut  down 
some  o'  the  saws,  other  folks'll  know  it,  and  we 
ain't  lookin'  for  that  trouble." 

Dave  closed  his  book  with  a  slam.  All  his  re- 
cent satisfaction  was  gone  in  the  discovery  of  the 
shortage.  He  had  not  suspected  it. 

"  I  must  send  up  to  Mason.     It's — it's  hell ! " 

"  It's  wuss ! " 

Dave  swung  round  on  his  loyal  assistant. 

"  Use  every  log  in  the  reserve.  Every  one, 
mind.  We've  got  to  gamble.  If  Mason  keeps  us 
short  we're  done  anyway.  Maybe  the  fever  will 
let  up,  and  things  '11  work  out  all  right." 

Dave  flung  his  book  aside  and  stood  up.  His 
heavy  face  was  more  deeply  lined  than  it  had  been 
at  the  beginning  of  summer.  He  looked  to  be 
nearer  fifty  than  thirty.  The  tremendous  work  and 
anxiety  were  telling. 

"  Get  out  to  the  shoots,"  he  went  on,  in  a  sharp 
tone  of  command  he  rarely  used.  "  I'll  see  to  the 
tally.  Keep  'em  right  at  it.  Squeeze  the  saws, 
and  get  the  last  foot  out  of  'em.  Use  the  reserve 
till  it's  done.  We're  up  against  it." 

Dawson  understood.  He  gave  his  chief  one 
keen  glance,  nodded  and  departed.  He  knew,  no 
one  better,  the  tremendous  burden  on  the  man's 
gigantic  shoulders. 

Dave  watched  him  go.     Then  he  turned  back  to 


DISASTER  AT  THE  MILL  209 

the  desk.  He  was  not  the  man  to  weaken  at  the 
vagaries  of  ill  fortune.  Such  difficulties  as  at  the 
moment  confronted  him  only  stiffened  his  deter- 
mination. He  would  not  take  a  beating.  He  was 
ready  to  battle  to  the  death.  He  quietly,  yet 
earnestly,  cursed  the  fever  to  himself,  and  opened 
and  reread  Mason's  letter.  One  paragraph  held 
his  attention,  and  he  read  it  twice  over. 

"  If  I'm  short  on  the  cut  you  must  not  mind  too 
much.  I  can  easily  make  it  up  when  things 
straighten  out.  These  hands  I'm  taking  on  are 
mostly  'green.'  I  can  only  thank  my  stars  I'm 
able  to  find  them  up  here.  I  can't  think  where  they 
come  from.  However,  they  can  work,  which  is  the 
great  thing,  and  though  they  need  considerable  dis- 
cipline— they're  a  rebellious  lot — I  mean  to  make 
them  work." 

It  was  a  great  thought  to  the  master  of  the  mills 
that  he  had  such  men  as  Bob  Mason  in  his  service. 
He  glowed  with  satisfaction  at  the  thought,  and  it 
largely  compensated  him  for  the  difficulties  besetting 
him.  He  put  the  letter  away,  and  looked  over  the 
desk  for  a  memorandum  pad.  Failing  to  find  what 
he  required,  he  crossed  over  to  a  large  cupboard  at 
the  far  corner  of  the  room.  It  was  roomy,  roughly 
built,  to  store  books  and  stationery  in.  The  top 
shelf  alone  was  in  use,  except  that  Dawson's  winter 
overcoat  hung  in  the  lower  part.  It  was  on  the  top 
shelf  that  Dave  expected  to  find  the  pad  he  wanted. 

As  he  reached  the  cupboard  a  terrific  crash  of 


210  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

thunder  shook  the  building.  It  was  right  over- 
head, and  pealed  out  with  nerve-racking  force  and 
abruptness.  It  was  the  first  attack  of  the  threatened 
storm.  The  peal  died  out  and  all  became  still 
again,  except  for  the  shriek  of  the  saws  beyond  the 
partition  walls.  He  waited  listening,  and  then  a 
strange  sound  reached  him.  So  used  was  he  to  the 
din  of  the  milling  floor  that  any  unusual  sound  or 
note  never  failed  to  draw  and  hold  his  attention.  A 
change  of  tone  in  the  song  of  the  saws  might  mean 
so  much.  Now  this  curious  sound  puzzled  him.  It 
was  faint,  so  faint  that  only  his  practiced  ears  could 
have  detected  it,  yet,  to  him,  it  was  ominously  plain. 
Suddenly  it  ceased,  but  it  left  him  dissatisfied. 

He  was  about  to  resume  his  search  when  again 
he  started ;  and  the  look  he  turned  upon  the  door 
had  unmistakable  anxiety  in  it.  There  it  was  again, 
faint,  but  so  painfully  distinct.  He  drew  back,  half 
inclined  to  quit  his  search,  but  still  he  waited, 
wondering.  The  noise  was  as  though  a  farrier's 
rasp  was  being  lightly  passed  over  a  piece  of  well- 
oiled  steel.  At  last  he  made  up  his  mind.  He 
must  ascertain  its  meaning,  and  he  moved  to  leave 
the  cupboard.  Suddenly  a  terrific  grinding  noise 
shrieked  harshly  above  the  din  of  the  saws.  It  cul- 
minated in  a  monstrous  thud.  Instinctively  he 
sprang  back,  and  was  standing  half- inside  the  cup- 
board when  a  deafening  crash  shook  the  mills  to 
their  foundations.  There  was  a  fearful  rending  and 
smashing  of  timber.  Something  struck  the  walls  of 
the  office.  It  crashed  through,  and  a  smashing 


DISASTER  AT  THE  MILL  211 

blow  struck  the  cupboard  door  and  hurled  him 
against  the  inner  wall.  He  thrust  out  his  arms  for 
protection.  The  door  was  fast.  He  was  a  prisoner. 

Now  pandemonium  reigned.  Crash  on  crash  fol- 
lowed in  rapid  succession.  It  was  as  though  the 
office  had  become  the  centre  of  attack  for  an  over- 
whelming combination  of  forces.  The  walls  and 
floor  shivered  under  the  terrific  onslaught.  The 
very  building  seemed  to  totter  as  though  an  earth- 
quake were  in  progress.  But  at  last  the  end  came 
with  a  thunder  upon  the  cupboard  door,  the  panels 
were  ripped  like  tinder,  and  something  vast  launched 
itself  through  the  wrecked  woodwork.  It  struck 
the  imprisoned  man  in  the  chest,  and  in  a  moment 
he  was  pinned  to  the  wall,  gasping  under  ribs  bend- 
ing to  the  crushing  weight  which  felt  to  be  wringing 
the  very  life  out  of  him. 

A  deadly  quiet  fell  as  suddenly  as  the  turmoil 
had  arisen,  and  his  quick  ears  told  him  that  the  saws 
were  still,  and  all  work  had  ceased  in  the  mill.  But 
the  pause  was  momentary.  A  second  later  a  great 
shouting  arose.  Men's  voices,  loud  and  hoarse, 
reached  him,  and  the  rushing  of  heavy  feet  was  sig- 
nificant of  the  disaster. 

And  he  was  helpless,  a  prisoner. 

He  tried  to  move.  His  agony  was  appalling. 
His  ribs  felt  to  be  on  the  verge  of  cracking  under 
the  enormous  weight  that  held  him.  He  raised  his 
arms,  but  the  pain  of  the  effort  made  him  gasp  and 
drop  them.  Yet  he  knew  he  must  escape  from  his 
prison.  He  knew  that  he  was  needed  outside. 


212          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

The  shouting  grew.  It  took  a  definite  tone,  and 
became  a  cry  that  none  could  mistake.  Dave 
needed  no  repetition  of  it  to  convince  him  of  the 
dread  truth.  The  fire  spectre  loomed  before  his 
eyes,  and  horror  nigh  drove  him  to  frenzy. 

In  his  mind  was  conjured  a  picture — a  ghastly 
picture,  such  as  all  his  life  he  had  dreaded  and  shut 
out  of  his  thoughts.  His  brain  suddenly  seemed  to 
grow  too  big  for  his  head.  It  grew  hot,  and  his 
temples  hammered.  A  surge  of  blood  rose  with  a 
rush  through  his  great  veins.  His  muscles  strung 
tense,  and  his  hands  clenched  upon  the  imprisoning 
beam.  He  no  longer  felt  any  pain  from  the  crush- 
ing weight.  He  was  incapable  of  feeling  anything. 
It  was  a  moment  when  mind  and  body  were  charged 
with  a  maddening  force  that  no  other  time  could 
command.  With  his  elbows  planted  against  the 
wall  behind  him,  with  his  lungs  filled  with  a  deep 
whistling  breath,  he  thrust  at  the  beam  with  every 
ounce  of  his  enormous  strength  put  forth. 

He  knew  all  his  imprisonment  meant.  Not  to 
himself  alone.  Not  to  those  shouting  men  outside. 
It  was  the  mills.  Hark  !  Fire  !  Fire  !  The  cry 
was  on  every  hand.  The  mills — his  mills — were 
afire! 

He  struggled  as  never  before  in  his  life  had  he 
struggled.  He  struggled  till  the  sweat  poured  from 
his  temples,  till  his  hands  lacerated,  till  the  veins  of 
his  neck  stood  out  like  straining  ropes,  till  it  seemed 
as  though  his  lungs  must  burst.  He  was  spurred 
by  a  blind  fury,  but  the  beam  remained  immovable. 


DISASTER  AT  THE  MILL  213 

Hark !  The  maddening  cry  filled  the  air.  Fire ! 
Fire !  Fire !  It  was  everywhere  driving  him, 
urging  him,  appealing.  It  rang  in  his  brain  with 
an  exquisite  torture.  It  gleamed  at  him  in  flaming 
letters  out  of  the  darkness.  His  mill ! 

Suddenly  a  cry  broke  from  him  as  he  realized  the 
futility  of  his  effort.  It  was  literally  wrung  from 
him  in  the  agony  of  his  soul ;  nor  was  he  aware  that 
he  had  spoken. 

"  God,  give  me  strength  !  " 

And  as  the  cry  went  up  he  hurled  himself  upon 
the  beam  with  the  fury  of  a  madman. 

Was  it  in  answer  to  his  prayer  ?  The  beam  gave. 
It  moved.  It  was  so  little,  so  slight ;  but  it  moved. 
And  now,  with  every  fibre  braced,  he  attacked  it  in 
one  final  effort.  It  gave  again.  It  jolted,  it  lifted, 
its  rough  end  tearing  the  flesh  of  his  chest  under  his 
clothing.  It  tottered  for  a  moment.  He  struggled 
on,  his  bulging  eyes  and  agonized  gasping  telling 
plainly  of  the  strain.  Inch  by  inch  it  gave  before 
him.  His  muscles  felt  to  be  wrenching  from  the 
containing  tissues,  his  breathing  was  spasmodic 
and  whistling,  his  teeth  were  grinding  together. 
It  gave  further,  further.  Suddenly,  with  a  crash, 
it  fell,  the  door  was  wrenched  from  its  hinges,  and 
he  was  free ! 

He  dashed  out  into  the  wreck  of  his  office.  All 
was  in  absolute  darkness.  He  stumbled  his  way 
over  the  debris  which  covered  the  floor,  and  finally 
reached  the  shattered  remains  of  the  doorway. 

Now  he  was  no  longer  in  darkness.     The  milling 


214  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

floor  was  all  too  brilliantly  lit  by  the  leaping  flames 
down  at  the  "  shoot "  end  of  the  No.  I  rollers.  He 
waited  for  nothing,  but  ran  toward  the  fire.  Be- 
yond, dimly  outlined  in  the  lurid  glow,  he  could 
see  the  men.  He  saw  Dawson  and  others  struggling 
up  the  shoot  with  nozzle  and  hose,  and  he  put 
his  hands  to  his  mouth  and  bellowed  encourage- 
ment. 

"  Five  hundred  dollars  if  you  get  her  under !  "  he 
cried. 

If  any  spur  were  needed,  that  voice  was  sufficient. 
It  was  the  voice  of  the  master  the  lumber-jacks 
knew. 

Dawson  on  the  lead  struggled  up,  and  as  he 
came  Dave  shouted  again. 

"  Now,  boy !  Sling  it  hard !  And  pass  the 
word  to  pump  like  hell !  " 

He  reached  out  over  the  shoot.  Dawson  threw 
the  nozzle.  And  as  Dave  caught  it  a  stream  of 
water  belched  from  the  spout. 

None  knew  better  than  he  the  narrowness  of  the 
margin  between  saving  and  losing  the  mills.  An- 
other minute  and  all  would  have  been  lost.  The 
whole  structure  was  built  of  resinous  pine,  than 
which  there  is  nothing  more  inflammable.  The 
fire  had  got  an  alarming  hold  even  in  those  few 
minutes,  and  for  nearly  an  hour  victory  and  disaster 
hung  in  the  balance.  Nor  did  Dave  relinquish  his 
post  while  any  doubt  remained.  It  was  not  until 
the  flames  were  fully  under  control  that  he  left  the 
lumber-jacks  to  complete  the  work. 


DISASTER  AT  THE  MILL  215 

He  was  weary — more  weary  than  he  knew.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  in  that  brief  hour  he  had  gone 
through  a  lifetime  of  struggle,  both  mental  and 
physical.  He  was  sore  in  body  and  soul.  This 
disaster  had  come  at  the  worst  possible  time,  and, 
as  a  result,  he  saw  in  it  something  like  a  week's 
delay.  The  thought  was  maddening,  and  his  ill 
humor  found  vent  in  the  shortness  of  his  manner 
when  Dawson  attempted  to  draw  him  aside. 

"  Out  with  it,  man,"  he  exclaimed  peevishly. 

Dawson  hesitated.  He  noticed  for  the  first  time 
the  torn  condition  of  his  chief's  clothes,  and  the 
blood  stains  on  the  breast  of  his  shirt.  Then  he 
blurted  out  his  thankfulness  in  a  tone  that  made 
Dave  regret  his  impatience. 

"  I'm  a'mighty  thankful  you're  safe,  boss,"  he  said 
fervently.  Then,  after  a  pause,  "  But  you — you  got 
the  racket  ?  You're  wise  to  it  ?  " 

Dave  shrugged.  Reaction  had  set  in.  Nothing 
seemed  to  matter,  the  cause  or  anything.  The  mill 
was  safe.  He  cared  for  nothing  else. 

"  Something  broke,  I  s'pose,"  he  said  almost  in- 
differently. 

"  Sure.  Suthin'  bust.  It  bust  on  purpose.  Get 
it?" 

The  foreman's  face  lit  furiously  as  he  made  his 
announcement. 

Dave  turned  on  him.  All  his  indifference  van- 
ished in  a  twinkling. 

"  Eh  ?     Not — not  an  accident  ?  " 

In  an  access  of  loyal  rage  Dawson  seized  him  by 


216          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

the  arm  in  a  nervous  clutch,  and  tried  to  drag  him 
forward. 

"  Come  on,"  he  cried.  "  Let's  find  him.  It's 
Mansell ! " 

With  a  sudden  movement  Dave  flung  him  off, 
and  the  force  he  used  nearly  threw  the  foreman  off 
his  feet.  His  eyes  were  burning  like  two  live  coals. 

"  Come  on ! "  he  cried  harshly,  and  Dawson  was 
left  to  follow  as  he  pleased. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  LAST  OF  THE  SAWYER 

DAVE'S  lead  took  the  foreman  in  the  direction  of 
the  wrecked  office.  Now,  in  calmer  moments,  the 
full  extent  of  the  damage  became  apparent.  The 
first  three  sets  of  rollers  were  hopelessly  wrecked, 
and  the  saws  were  twisted  and  their  settings  broken 
and  contorted  out  of  all  recognition.  Then  the  fire 
had  practically  destroyed  the  whole  of  the  adjacent 
northwest  corner  of  the  mill.  The  office  was  a 
mere  skeleton,  a  shattered  shell,  and  the  walls  and 
flooring  adjoining  had  been  torn  and  battered  into 
a  complete  ruin.  In  the  midst  of  all  this,  half  a 
dozen  heavy  logs,  in  various  stages  of  trimming, 
lay  scattered  about  where  the  machinery  happened 
to  have  thrown  them. 

It  was  a  sickening  sight  to  the  master  of  the 
mills,  but  in  his  present  mood  he  put  the  feeling 
from  him,  lost  in  a  furious  desire  to  discover  the 
author  of  the  dastardly  outrage. 

He  paused  for  a  moment  as  one  great  log  lying 
across  half  a  dozen  of  the  roller  beds  barred  his 
way.  He  glanced  swiftly  over  the  wreckage.  Then 
he  turned  to  the  man  following  him. 

"  Any  of  the  boys  cut  up  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Some  o'  them  is  pretty  mean  damaged,"  Daw- 
son  replied.  "  But  it  ain't  too  bad,  I  guess.  I  'lows 


218  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

it  was  sheer  luck.  But  ther's  Mansell.  We  ain't 
located  him." 

Mansell  was  uppermost  in  his  mind.  He  could 
think  of  nothing,  and  no  one,  else.  He  wanted  to 
get  his  hands  about  the  fellow's  throat.  In  his  rage 
he  felt  that  the  only  thing  to  give  him  satisfaction 
at  the  moment  would  be  to  squeeze  the  fellow's 
life  slowly  out  of  him.  Dawson  was  a  savage  when 
roused,  nor  did  he  make  pretense  of  being  other- 
wise. If  he  came  across  the  sawyer — well,  perhaps 
it  was  a  good  thing  that  Dave  was  with  him — that 
is,  a  good  thing  for  Mansell. 

Dave  scrambled  over  the  log  and  the  two  men 
hurried  on  to  the  saw  that  had  been  Mansell's. 
Neither  spoke  until  this  was  reached.  Then  Dave 
turned. 

"  Say,  go  you  right  on  over  by  the  crane  and 
rake  around  there.  Maybe  he  jumped  the  boom 
and  got  out  that  way.  I'll  be  along  directly." 

It  was  a  mere  excuse.  He  wanted  to  investigate 
alone.  The  foreman  obeyed,  although  reluctantly. 

The  moment  he  was  gone,  Dave  jumped  up  on 
the  rollers  to  examine  the  machinery  that  had  held 
the  saw.  The  light  of  the  dying  fire  was  insuffi- 
cient, and  he  was  forced  to  procure  a  lantern.  His 
first  anger  had  passed  now,  and  he  was  thoroughly 
alert.  His  practiced  eye  lost  no  detail  that  could 
afford  the  least  possible  clue  to  the  cause  of  the 
smash.  Dawson  had  said  it  was  Mansell,  and  that 
it  was  no  accident.  But  then  he  knew  well  enough 
that  Dawson  had  a  bad  enough  opinion  of  the  sawyer, 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  SAWYER        219 

and  since  the  smash  had  apparently  originated  on 
No.  I,  he  had  probably  been  only  too  glad  to  jump 
to  the  conclusion.  For  himself,  he  was  personally 
determined  to  avoid  any  prejudice. 

He  quickly  discovered  that  the  saw  in  question 
had  been  broken  off  short.  The  settings  were  des- 
perately twisted,  and  he  knew  that  the  force  capa- 
ble of  doing  this  could  have  only  been  supplied  by 
the  gigantic  log  that  had  been  trimming  at  the 
moment.  Therefore  the  indication  must  come  from 
the  saw  itself.  He  searched  carefully,  and  found 
much  of  the  broken  blade.  The  upper  portions 
were  broken  clean.  There  was  neither  dinge  nor 
bend  in  them.  But  the  lower  portions  were  less 
clean.  One  piece  particularly  looked  as  though  a 
sharp  instrument  had  been  at  work  upon  it.  Then 
the  memory  of  that  faint  rasping  sound,  which  had 
been  the  first  thing  to  attract  his  attention  before 
the  smash,  came  back  to  him.  He  grew  hot  with 
rising  anger,  and  stuffed  the  piece  of  saw-blade  in- 
side his  shirt. 

"The  cur!"  he  muttered.  "Why?  Why? 
Guess  Dawson  was  right,  after  all.  The  liquor  was 
in  him.  But  why  should  he  try  to  smash  us  ?  " 

He  jumped  down  to  the  alleyway,  intending  to 
join  his  foreman,  when  a  fresh  thought  occurred  to 
him.  He  looked  over  at  the  remains  of  the  office, 
then  he  glanced  up  and  down  at  the  broken  rollers 
of  No.  i.  And  his  lips  shut  tight. 

"  I  was  in  there,"  he  said  to  himself,  with  his 
eyes  on  the  wrecked  office,  "  and — he  knew  it." 


220  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

At  that  moment  Dawson's  excited  voice  inter- 
rupted him.  "  Say,  boss,  come  right  along  here. 
Guess  I've  got  him." 

Dave  joined  him  hurriedly.  He  found  the  fore- 
man bending  over  a  baulk  of  timber,  one  that  had 
evidently  been  hurled  there  in  the  smash.  It  was 
lying  across  the  sill  of  the  opening  over  the  boom, 
projecting  a  long  way  out.  Beneath  it,  just  where 
it  rested  on  the  sill,  but  saved  from  its  full  weight 
by  the  cant  at  which  it  was  resting,  a  human  figure 
was  stretched  out  face  downward. 

Dawson  was  examining  the  man's  face  when 
Dave  reached  him,  and  started  to  explain  hurriedly. 

"  I  didn't  rightly  rec'nize  him,"  he  said.  "  Y'  see 
he's  got  out  of  his  workin'  kit.  Might  ha'  bin  goin' 
to  the  Meetin'.  He  was  sure  ligntin'  out  of  here 
for  keeps." 

To  Dave  the  prostrate  figure  suggested  all  that 
the  foreman  said.  The  man  had  calculated  that 
smash — manufactured  it.  No  more  evidence  was 
needed.  He  had  got  himself  ready  for  a  bolt  for 
safety,  preferring  the  boom  as  offering  the  best 
means  of  escape  and  the  least  chance  of  detection. 
Once  outside  there  would  be  no  difficulty  in  get- 
ting away.  As  Dawson  said,  his  clothes  suggested 
a  hurried  journey.  They  were  the  thick  frieze  the 
lumber-jack  wears  in  winter,  and  would  be  ample 
protection  for  summer  nights  out  in  the  open. 
Yes,  it  had  been  carefully  thought  out.  But  the 
reason  of  this  attack  on  himself  puzzled  him,  and  he 
repeatedly  asked  himself  "  Why  ?  " 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  SAWYER        221 

There  could  not  be  much  question  as  to  the 
man's  condition.  If  he  were  not  yet  dead,  he 
must  be  very  near  it,  for  the  small  of  his  back  was 
directly  under  the  angle  of  the  beam  and  crushed 
against  the  sill.  Dave  stood  up  from  his  examina- 
tion. 

"  Get  one  of  the  boys,  quick,"  he  said.  "  Start 
him  out  at  once  for  Doc  Symons,  over  at  High 
River.  It's  only  fifteen  miles.  He'll  be  along  be- 
fore morning  anyhow.  I'll  carry — this  down  to 
the  office.  Don't  say  a  word  around  the  mill.  We've 
just  had  an — accident.  See  ?  And  say,  Dawson, 
you're  looking  for  a  raise,  and  you're  going  to  get 
it,  that  is  if  this  mill's  in  full  work  this  day  week. 
We're  short  of  logs — well,  this'll  serve  as  an  excuse 
for  saws  being  idle.  '  It's  an  ill  wind,'  eh  ?  Mean- 
time, get  what  saws  you  can  going.  Now  cut 
along." 

The  foreman's  gratitude  shone  in  his  eyes.  Had 
Dave  given  him  the  least  encouragement  he  would 
undoubtedly  have  made  him  what  he  considered  an 
elegant  speech  of  thanks,  but  his  employer  turned 
from  him  at  once  and  set  about  releasing  the  im- 
prisoned man.  As  soon  as  he  had  prized  the  beam 
clear  he  gathered  him  up  in  his  arms  and  bore  him 
down  the  spiral  staircase  to  the  floor  below.  Then 
he  hurried  on  to  his  office  with  his  burden. 

And  as  he  went  he  wondered.  The  sawyer 
might  dislike  Dawson.  But  he  had  no  cause  for 
grudge  against  him,  Dave.  Then  why  had  he 
waited  until  he  was  alone  in  the  tally  room  ?  The 


222  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

whole  thing  looked  so  like  a  direct  attack  upon 
himself,  rather  than  on  the  mills,  that  he  was  more 
than  ever  puzzled.  He  went  back  over  the  time 
since  he  had  employed  Mansell,  and  he  could  not 
remember  a  single  incident  that  could  serve  him  as 
an  excuse  for  such  an  attack.  It  might  have  been 
simply  the  madness  of  drink,  and  yet  it  seemed  too 
carefully  planned.  Yes,  that  was  another  thing. 
Mansell  had  been  on  the  drink  for  a  week,  "  fight- 
ing-drunk," Dawson  had  said.  In  the  circum- 
stances it  was  not  reasonable  for  him  to  plan  the 
thing  so  carefully.  Then  a  sudden  thought  occurred 
to  him.  Were  there  others  in  it  ?  Was  Mansell 
only  the  tool  ? 

He  was  suddenly  startled  by  a  distinct  sound 
from  the  injured  man.  It  was  the  sawyer's  voice, 
harsh  but  inarticulate,  and  it  brought  with  it  a  sug- 
gestion that  he  might  yet  learn  the  truth.  He  in- 
creased his  pace  and  reached  the  office  a  few 
moments  later. 

Here  he  prepared  a  pile  of  fur  rugs  upon  the 
floor  and  laid  the  sawyer  upon  it.  Then  he  waited 
for  some  minutes,  but,  as  nothing  approaching  con- 
sciousness resulted,  he  finally  left  him,  intending  to 
return  again  when  the  doctor  arrived.  There  was 
so  much  to  be  done  in  the  mill  that  he  could  delay 
his  return  to  it  no  longer. 

It  was  nearly  four  hours  later  when  he  went  back 
to  his  office.  He  had  seen  the  work  of  salvage  in 
order,  and  at  last  had  a  moment  to  spare  to  attend 
to  himself.  He  needed  it.  He  was  utterly  weary, 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  SAWYER        223 

and  his  lacerated  chest  was  giving  him  exquisite 
pain. 

He  found  Mansell  precisely  as  he  left  him.  Ap- 
parently there  had  been  no  movement  of  any  sort. 
He  bent  over  him  and  felt  his  heart.  It  was  beat- 
ing faintly.  He  lifted  the  lids  of  his  closed  eyes, 
and  the  eyeballs  moved  as  the  light  fell  upon  them. 

He  turned  away  and  began  to  strip  himself  of  his 
upper  garments.  There  was  a  gash  in  his  chest 
fully  six  inches  long,  from  which  the  blood  was 
steadily,  though  sluggishly,  flowing.  His  clothes 
were  saturated  and  caked  with  it.  He  bathed  the 
wound  with  the  drinking  water  in  the  bucket,  and 
tearing  his  shirt  into  strips  made  himself  a  tempo- 
rary bandage.  This  done,  he  turned  to  his  chair  to 
sit  down,  when,  glancing  over  at  the  sick  man,  he 
was  startled  to  find  his  eyes  open  and  staring  in  his 
direction. 

He  at  once  went  over  to  him. 

"  Feeling  better,  Mansell?"  he  inquired. 

The  man  gave  no  sign  of  recognition.  His  eyes 
simply  stared  at  him.  For  a  moment  he  thought 
he  was  dead,  but  a  faint  though  steady  breathing 
reassured  him.  Suddenly  an  idea  occurred  to  him, 
and  he  went  to  a  cupboard  and  produced  a  bottle  of 
brandy.  Pouring  some  out  into  a  tin  cup,  with 
some  difficulty  he  persuaded  it  into  Mansell's 
mouth.  Then  he  waited.  The  staring  eyes  began 
to  move,  and  there  was  a  decided  fluttering  of  the 
eyelids.  A  moment  later  the  lips  moved,  and  an 
indistinct  but  definite  sound  came  from  them. 


224  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

"  How  are  you  now  ?  "  Dave  asked. 

There  was  another  long  pause,  during  which  the 
man's  eyes  closed  again.  Then  they  reopened,  and 
he  deliberately  turned  his  head  away. 

"  You — didn't — get — hurt  ?  "  he  asked,  in  faint, 
spasmodic  gasps. 

"  No."  Dave  leaned  over  him.  "  Have  some 
more  brandy  ?  " 

The  man  turned  his  head  back  again.  He  didn't 
answer,  but  the  look  in  his  eyes  was  sufficient. 
This  time  Dave  poured  out  more,  and  there  was  no 
difficulty  in  administering  it. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  suggested,  as  the  color  slowly  crept 
over  the  man's  face. 

"  Good — goo " 

The  sound  died  away,  and  the  eyes  closed  again. 
But  only  to  reopen  quickly. 

"  He — said — you'd — get — killed,"  he  gasped. 

"  He — who  ?  " 

«  Jim." 

The  sawyer's  eyelids  drooped  again.  Without  a 
moment's  hesitation  Dave  plied  him  with  more  of 
the  spirit. 

"  You  mean  Truscott  ?  "  he  asked  sharply.  He 
was  startled,  but  he  gave  no  sign.  He  realized  that 
at  any  time  the  man  might  refuse  to  say  more. 
Then  he  added :  "  He's  got  it  in  for  me." 

The  sick  man  remained  perfectly  still  for  some 
seconds.  His  brain  seemed  to  move  slowly.  When 
he  did  speak,  his  voice  had  grown  fainter. 

"  Yes." 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  SAWYER        225 

Dave's  face  was  hard  and  cold  as  he  looked 
down  at  him.  He  was  just  about  to  formulate 
another  question,  when  the  door  opened  and  Dr. 
Symons  hurried  in.  He  was  a  brisk  man,  and 
took  the  situation  in  at  a  glance. 

"  A  smash  ? "  he  inquired.  Then,  his  eyes  on 
the  bottle  at  Dave's  side :  "  What's  that — brandy  ?  " 

"  Brandy."  The  lumberman  passed  it  across  to 
him.  "  Yes,  a  smash-up.  This  poor  chap's  badly 
damaged,  I'm  afraid.  Found  him  with  a  heavy 
beam  lying  across  the  small  of  his  back.  You 
were  the  nearest  doctor,  so  I  sent  for  you.  Eh  ? 
oh,  yes,"  as  the  doctor  pointed  at  the  blood  on  his 
clothes.  "  When  you've  finished  with  him  you  can 
put  a  stitch  in  me — some  of  the  boys  too.  I'll 
leave  you  to  it,  Doc,  they'll  need  me  in  the  mill.  I 
gave  him  brandy,  and  it  roused  him  to  conscious- 
ness." 

"  Right.     You  might  get  back  in  half  an  hour." 

Dr.  Symons  moved  over  to  the  sick  man,  and 
Dave  put  on  his  coat  and  left  the  office. 

When  he  returned  the  doctor  met  him  with  a 
grave  face. 

"  What's  the  night  like  ?  "  he  asked.  «  I've  got 
to  ride  back." 

He  went  to  the  door,  and  Dave  followed  him 
out. 

"  His  back  is  broken,"  he  said,  when  they  were 
out  of  ear-shot.  "  It's  just  a  question  of  hours." 

"  How  many  ?  " 

"  Can't    say    with    any    certainty.      It's    badly 


226  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

smashed,  and  no  doubt  other  things  besides.  Par- 
alysis of  the " 

"  Has  he  said  anything  ?  Has  he  shown  any  in- 
clination to  talk?" 

"  No.  That  is,  he  looked  around  the  room  a 
good  deal  as  though  looking  for  some  one.  Maybe 
you." 

"  Can  nothing  be  done  for  the  poor  chap  ?  ", 

"  Nothing.  Better  get  him  a  parson.  I'll  come 
over  to-morrow  to  see  him,  if  he's  alive.  Anyway 
I'll  be  needed  to  sign  a  certificate.  I  must  get  back 
to  home  by  daylight.  I've  got  fever  patients. 
Now  just  come  inside,  and  I'll  fix  you  up.  Then 
I'll  go  and  see  to  the  boys.  After  that,  home." 

"  You're  sure  nothing " 

"  Plumb  sure !  Sure  as  I  am  you're  going  to 
have  a  mighty  bad  chest  if  you  don't  come  inside 
and  let  me  stop  that  oozing  blood  I  see  coming 
through  your  clothes." 

Without  further  protest  Dave  followed  the  doctor 
into  the  office,  and  submitted  to  the  operation. 

"  That's  a  rotten  bad  place,"  he  assured  him,  in 
his  brisk  way.  "  You'll  have  to  lie  up.  You  ought 
to  be  dead  beat  from  loss  of  blood.  Gad,  man,  you 
must  go  home,  or  I  won't  answef " 

But  Dave  broke  in  testily. 

"  Right  ho,  Doc,  you  go  and  see  to  the  boys. 
Send  your  bill  in  to  me  for  the  lot." 

As  soon  as  he  had  gone,  Dave  sat  thoughtfully 
gazing  at  the  doomed  sawyer.  Presently  he 
glanced  round  at  the  brandy  bottle.  The  doctor 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  SAWYER        227 

had  positively  said  the  poor  fellow  was  doomed. 
He  rose  from  his  seat  and  poured  out  a  stiff  drink. 
Then  he  knelt  down,  and  supporting  the  man's 
head,  held  it  to  his  lips.  He  drank  it  eagerly. 
Dave  knew  it  had  been  his  one  pleasure  in  life. 
Then  he  went  back  to  his  chair. 

"  Feeling  comfortable  ?  "  he  inquired  gently. 

"  Yes,  boss,"  came  the  man's  answer  promptly. 
Then,  "  Wot  did  the  Doc  say  ?  " 

"  Guess  you're  handing  in  your  checks,"  Dave  re- 
plied, after  a  moment's  deliberation. 

The  sawyer's  eyes  were  on  the  brandy  bottle. 

"  How  long  ?  "  he  asked  presently. 

"  Maybe  hours.     He  couldn't  say." 

"  'E's  wrong,  boss.  'Tain't  hours.  I'm  mighty 
cold,  an' — it's  creepin'  up  quick." 

Dave  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  already  past 
two  o'clock. 

"  He  said  he'd  come  and  see  you  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

"  I'll  be  stiff  by  then,"  the  dying  man  persisted, 
with  his  eyes  still  on  the  bottle.  "  Say,  boss,"  he 
went  on,  "  that  stuff's  a  heap  warming — an'  I'm 
cold." 

Dave  poured  him  out  more  brandy.  Then  he 
took  off  his  own  coat  and  laid  it  over  the  man's 
legs.  His  fur  coat  and  another  fur  robe  were  in  the 
cupboard,  and  these  he  added.  And  the  man's 
thanks  came  awkwardly. 

"  I  can't  send  for  a  parson,"  Dave  said  regret- 
fully, after  a  few  moments'  silence.  "  I'd  like  to, 


228  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

but  Parson  Tom's  away  up  in  the  hills.  It's  only 
right " 

"  He's  gone  up  to  the  hills  ?  "  the  sick  man  inter- 
rupted him,  as  though  struck  by  a  sudden  thought. 

"  Yes.     It's  fever." 

Mansell  lay  staring  straight  up  at  the  roof.  And 
as  the  other  watched  him  he  felt  that  some  sort  of 
struggle  was  going  on  in  his  slowly  moving  mind. 
Twice  his  lips  moved  as  though  about  to  speak,  but 
for  a  long  time  no  sound  came  from  them.  The 
lumberman  felt  extreme  pity  for  him.  He  had  for- 
gotten that  this  man  had  so  nearly  ruined  him,  so 
nearly  caused  his  death.  He  only  saw  before  him 
a  dimly  flickering  life,  a  life  every  moment  threat- 
ening to  die  out.  He  knew  how  warped  had  been 
that  life,  how  worthless  from  a  purely  human  point 
of  view,  but  he  felt  that  it  was  as  precious  in  the 
sight  of  One  as  that  of  the  veriest  saint.  He  racked 
his  thoughts  for  some  way  to  comfort  those  last 
dread  moments. 

Presently  the  dying  man's  head  turned  slightly 
toward  him. 

"  I'm  goin',  boss,"  he  said  with  a  gasp,  "  It's 
gettin'  up — the  cold." 

"  Will  you  have — brandy  ?  " 

The  lighting  of  the  man's  eyes  made  a  verbal  an- 
swer unnecessary.  Dave  gave  him  nearly  half  a 
tumbler,  and  his  ebbing  life  flickered  up  again  like 
a  dying  candle  flame. 

"  The  Doc  said  you  wus  hurt  bad,  boss.  I  heard 
him.  I'm  sorry — real  miser'ble  sorry — now." 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  SAWYER        229 

"  Now  ?  " 

"  Yep — y'  see  I'm — goin'." 

"  Ah." 

"  I'm  kind  o'  glad  ther'  ain't  no  passon  around. 
Guess  ther's  a  heap  I  wouldn't  'a'  said  to  him." 

The  dying  man's  eyes  closed  for  a  moment. 
Dave  didn't  want  to  break  in  on  his  train  of 
thought,  so  he  kept  silent. 

"  Y'  see,"  Mansell  went  on  again  almost  at  once, 
"  he  kind  o'  drove  me  to  it.  That  an'  the  drink. 
He  give  me  the  drink  too.  Jim's  cur' us  mean  by 
you." 

"  But  Jim's  gone  east  days  ago." 

"  No,  he  ain't.  He's  lyin'  low.  He  ain't  east 
now." 

"  You're  sure  ?  "  Dave's  astonishment  crept  into 
his  tone. 

Mansell  made  a  movement  which  implied  his 
certainty. 

"  He  was  to  give  me  a  heap  o'  money.  The 
money  you  give  fer  his  mill.  He  wants  you 
smashed.  He  wants  the  mill  smashed.  An'  I  did 
it.  Say,  I  bust  that  saw  o'  mine,  an'  she  was  a 
beaut',"  he  added,  with  pride  and  regret.  "  I  got  a 
rasp  on  to  it.  But  it's  all  come  back  on  me.  Guess 
I'll  be  goin'  to  hell  fer  that  job — that  an'  others. 
Say,  boss " 

He  broke  off,  looking  at  the  brandy  bottle.  Dave 
made  no  pretense  at  demur.  The  man  was  rapidly 
dying,  and  he  felt  that  the  spirit  gave  him  a  certain 
ease  of  mind.  The  ethics  of  his  action  did  not 


230  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

trouble  him.  If  he  could  give  a  dying  man  com- 
fort, he  would. 

"  There's  no  hell  for  those  who  are  real  sorry," 
he  said,  when  the  fellow  had  finished  his  drink. 
44  The  good  God  is  so  thankful  for  a  man's  real  sor- 
row for  doing  wrong  that  He  forgives  him  righ 
out.  He  forgives  a  sight  easier  than  men  do 
You've  nothing  to  worry  over,  lad.  You're  sorry 
— that's  the  real  thing." 

"  Sure,  boss  ?  " 

"  Dead  sure." 

"  Say,  boss,  I'd  'a'  hate  to  done  you  up.  But  ther' 
was  the  money,  an' — I  wanted  it  bad." 

"  Sure  you  did.  You  see  we  all  want  a  heap  the 
good  God  don't  reckon  good  for  us " 

The  man's  eyes  suddenly  closed  while  Dave  was 
speaking.  Then  they  opened  again,  and  this  time 
they  were  staring  wildly. 

"  I'm — goin',"  he  gasped. 

Dave  was  on  his  knees  in  a  second,  supporting 
his  head.  He  poured  some  brandy  into  the  gasp- 
ing mouth,  and  for  a  brief  moment  the  man  rallied. 
Then  his  breathing  suddenly  became  violent. 

"  I'm — done  !  "  he  gasped  in  a  final  effort,  and  a 
moment  later  the  supporting  hand  felt  the  lead-like 
weight  of  the  lolling  head.  The  man  was  dead. 

The  lumberman  reverently  laid  the  head  back 
upon  the  rugs,  and  for  some  minutes  remained 
where  he  was  kneeling.  His  rough,  plain  face  was 
buried  in  his  hands.  Then  he  rose  to  his  feet  and 
stood  looking  down  upon  the  lifeless  form.  A 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  SAWYER        231 

great  pity  welled  up  in  his  heart.  Poor  Mansell 
was  beyond  the  reach  of  a  hard  fate,  beyond  the 
reach  of  earthly  temptation  and  the  hard  knocks  of 
men.  And  he  felt  it  were  better  so.  He  covered 
the  body  carefully  over  with  the  fur  robe,  and  sat 
down  at  his  desk. 

He  sat  there  for  some  minutes  listening  to  the 
sounds  of  the  workers  at  the  mills.  He  was  weary 
— so  weary.  But  at  last  he  could  resist  the  call  no 
longer,  and  he  went  out  to  join  in  the  labor  that  was 
his  very  life. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

FACE    TO  FACE 

FOR  the  few  remaining  hours  of  night  Dave  took 
no  leisure.  He  pressed  forward  the  work  of  repair- 
ing the  damage,  with  a  zest  that  set  Joel  Dawson 
herding  his  men  on  to  almost  superhuman  feats. 
There  was  no  rest  taken,  no  rest  asked.  And  it 
said  something  for  the  devotion  of  these  lumber- 
jacks to  their  employer  that  no  "  grouse  "  or  murmur 
was  heard. 

The  rest  which  the  doctor  had  ordered  Dave  to 
take  did  not  come  until  long  after  his  breakfast 
hour,  and  then  only  it  came  through  sheer  physical 
inability  to  return  to  his  work.  His  breakfast  was 
brought  to  the  office,  and  he  made  a  weak  pretense 
of  eating.  Then,  as  he  rose  from  his  seat,  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life  he  nearly  fainted.  He  saved 
himself,  however,  by  promptly  sitting  down  again, 
and  in  a  few  seconds  his  head  fell  forward  on  his 
chest  and  he  was  sound  asleep,  lost  in  the  dreamless 
slumber  of  exhaustion. 

Two  hours  later  Dawson  put  his  head  in  through 
the  office  doorway.  He  saw  the  sleeping  man  and 
retreated  at  once.  He  understood.  For  himself, 
he  had  not  yet  come  to  the  end  of  his  tether.  Be- 
sides, Simon  Odd  would  relieve  him  presently. 
Then,  too,  there  were  others  upon  whom  he  could 
depend  for  help. 


FACE  TO  FACE  233 

It  was  noon  when  a  quiet  tap  came  at  the  office 
door.  Dave's  old  mother  peeped  in.  She  had 
heard  of  the  smash  and  was  fearful  for  her  boy. 
Seeing  him  asleep  she  tiptoed  across  the  room  to 
him.  She  had  met  the  postmaster  on  her  way,  and 
brought  the  mail  with  her.  Now  she  deposited  it 
on  his  desk  and  stood  looking  down  at  the  great 
recumbent  figure  with  eyes  of  the  deepest  love  and 
anxiety.  All  signs  of  his  lacerated  chest  were  con- 
cealed, and  she  was  spared  what  would  have  been 
to  her  a  heartbreaking  sight.  Her  gentle  heart 
only  took  in  the  unutterably  weary  attitude  of  the 
sleeper.  That  was  sufficient  to  set  her  shaking  her 
gray  head  and  sighing  heavily.  The  work,  she  told 
herself  sadly,  was  killing  him.  Nor  did  she  know 
at  the  moment  how  near  to  the  truth  she  was. 

For  a  moment  she  bent  over  him,  and  her  aged 
lips  lightly  touched  his  mass  of  wiry  hair.  To  the 
world  he  might  be  unsightly,  he  might  be  ungainly, 
he  might  be — well,  all  he  believed  himself  to  be  ;  to 
her  he  possessed  every  beauty,  every  virtue  a  dot- 
ing mother  can  bestow  upon  her  offspring. 

She  passed  out  of  the  office  as  silently  as  she 
came,  and  the  man's  stertorous  breathing  rose  and 
fell  steadily,  the  only  sound  in  that  room  of  death. 

Two  hours  later  he  awoke  with  a  start.  A  serv- 
ing girl  blundered  into  the  room  with  a  basket  of 
food.  His  mother  had  sent  over  his  dinner. 

The  girl's  apologies  were  profuse. 

"  I  jest  didn't  know,  Mr.  Dave.  I'm  sure  sorry. 
Your  ma  sent  me  over  with  these  things,  an'  she 


234  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

said  as  I  was  to  set  'em  right  out  for  you.  Y'  see 
she  didn't  just  say  you  was  sleepin',  she " 

"  All  right,  Maggie,"  Dave  said  kindly.  Then 
he  looked  at  his  watch,  and  to  his  horror  found  it 
was  two  o'clock.  He  had  slept  the  entire  morning 
through. 

He  swiftly  rose  from  his  seat  and  stretched 
himself.  He  was  stiff  and  sore,  and  that  stretch 
reminded  him  painfully  of  his  wounded  chest. 
Then  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  ominous  pile  of  furs  in 
the  corner.  Ah,  there  was  that  to  see  to. 

He  watched  the  girl  set  out  his  dinner  and  re- 
membered he  was  hungry.  And  the  moment  she 
left  the  room  he  fell  upon  the  food  with  avidity. 
Yes,  he  felt  better — much  better,  and  he  was  glad. 
He  could  return  to  his  work,  and  see  that  every- 
thing possible  was  done,  and  then  there  was — that 
other  matter. 

He  had  just  finished  his  food  when  Dr.  Symons 
came  in  with  an  apology  on  his  lips. 

"  A  bit  late,"  he  exclaimed.  "  Sorry  I  couldn't 
make  it  before.  Ah,"  his  quick  eyes  fell  upon  the 
pile  of  furs.  "  Dead  ?  "  he  inquired. 

Dave  nodded. 

"  Sure,"  the  other  rattled  on.  "  Had  to  be. 
Knew  it.  Well,  there  are  more  good  sawyers  to  be 
had.  Let's  look  at  your  chest." 

Dave  submitted,  and  then  the  doctor,  at  the  lum- 
berman's request,  went  off  with  a  rush  to  see  about 
the  arrangements  for  the  sawyer's  burial. 

He  had  hardly  left  the  place,  and  Dave  was  just 


FACE  TO  FACE  235 

thinking  of  going  across  to  the  mill  again,  when 
there  was  another  call.  He  was  standing  at  the 
window.  He  wanted  to  return  at  once  to  his  work, 
but  for  some,  to  him,  unaccountable  reason  he  was 
a  prey  to  a  curious  reluctance ;  it  was  a  form  of  in- 
ertia he  had  never  before  experienced,  and  it  half 
annoyed  him,  yet  was  irresistibly  fascinating.  He 
stood  there  more  or  less  dreamily,  watching  the 
buzzing  flies  as  they  hurled  themselves  against  the 
dirty  glass  panes.  He  idly  tried  to  count  them. 
He  was  not  in  the  least  interested,  but  at  that  mo- 
ment, as  a  result  of  his  wound  and  his  weariness, 
his  brain  felt  that  it  needed  the  rest  of  such  triviali- 
ties. 

It  was  while  occupied  in  this  way  that  he  saw 
Jim  Truscott  approaching,  and  the  sight  startled 
him  into  a  mental  activity  that  just  then  his  best 
interests  in  the  mills  failed  to  stir  him  to. 

Then  Mansell  had  told  the  truth.  Jim  had  not 
gone  east  as  he  had  assured  Tom  Chepstow  it  was 
his  intention  to  do.  Why  was  he  coming  to  him 
now?  A  grim  thought  passed  through  his  mind. 
Was  it  the  fascination  which  the  scene  of  a  crime 
always  has  for  the  criminal?  He  sat  down  at  his 
desk,  and,  when  his  visitor's  knock  came,  appeared 
to  be  busy  with  his  mail. 

Truscott  came  in.  Dave  did  not  look  up,  but 
the  tail  of  his  eye  warned  him  of  a  peculiarly  furtive 
manner  in  his  visitor. 

"  Half  a  minute,"  he  said,  in  a  preoccupied  tone. 
"Just  sit  down." 


236  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

The  other  silently  obeyed,  while  Dave  tore  open 
a  telegram  at  haphazard,  and  immediately  became 
really  absorbed  in  its  contents. 

It  was  a  wire  from  his  agent  in  Winnipeg,  and 
announced  that  the  railroad  strike  had  been  settled, 
and  the  news  would  be  public  property  in  twenty- 
four  hours.  It  further  told  him  that  he  hoped  in 
future  he  would  have  no  further  hitch  to  report  in 
the  transportation  of  the  Malkern  timber,  and  that 
now  he  could  cope  with  practically  any  quantity 
Dave  might  ship  down.  The  news  was  very  satis- 
factory, except  for  the  reminder  it  gave  him  of  the 
disquieting  knowledge  that  his  mills  were  tempo- 
rarily wrecked,  and  he  could  not  produce  the  quan- 
tities the  agent  hoped  to  ship.  At  least  he  could 
not  produce  them  for  some  days,  and — yes,  there 
was  that  shortage  from  the  hills  to  cope  with,  too. 

This  brought  him  to  the  recollection  that  the 
author  of  half  his  trouble  was  in  the  office,  and 
awaiting  his  pleasure.  He  turned  at  once  to  his 
visitor,  and  surveyed  him  closely  from  head  to  foot. 

Truscott  was  sitting  with  his  back  to  the  pile  of 
rugs  concealing  the  dead  sawyer.  Presently  their 
eyes  met,  and  in  the  space  of  that  glance  the  lum- 
berman's thought  flowed  swiftly.  Nor,  when  he 
spoke,  did  his  tone  suggest  either  anger  or  resent- 
ment,  merely  a  cool  inquiry. 

"  You — changed  your  mind  ?  "  he  said. 

"  What  about  ?  "  Truscott  was  on  the  defensive 
at  once. 

"  You  didn't  go  east,  then  ?  " 


FACE  TO  FACE  237 

The  other's  gaze  shifted  at  once,  and  his  manner 
suggested  annoyance  with  himself  for  his  display. 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  went  as  far  as  Winnipeg.  Guess  I 
got  hung  up  by  the  strike,  so — so  I  came  back 
again.  Who  told  you  ?  " 

"  Tom  Chepstow." 

Truscott  nodded.  It  was  some  moments  before 
either  spoke  again.  There  was  an  awkwardness 
between  them  which  seemed  to  increase  every 
second.  Truscott  was  thinking  of  their  last  meet- 
ing, and — something  else.  Dave  was  estimating 
the  purpose  of  this  visit.  He  understood  that  the 
man  had  a  purpose,  and  probably  a  very  definite 
one. 

Suddenly  the  lumberman  rose  from  his  seat  as 
though  about  to  terminate  the  interview,  and  his 
movement  promptly  had  the  effect  he  desired. 
Truscott  detained  him  at  once. 

"  You  had  a  bad  smash,  last  night.  That's  why  I 
came  over." 

Dave  smiled.  It  was  just  the  glimmer  of  a  smile, 
and  frigid  as  a  polar  sunbeam.  As  he  made  no  an- 
swer, the  other  was  forced  to  go  on. 

"  I'm  sorry,  Dave,"  he  continued,  with  a  wonder- 
ful display  of  sincerity.  Then  he  hesitated,  but 
finally  plunged  into  a  labored  apology.  "  I  dare 
say  Parson  Tom  has  told  you  something  of  what  I 
said  to  him  the  night  he  went  away.  He  went  up 
to  clear  out  the  fever  for  you,  didn't  he  ?  He's  a 
good  chap.  I  hoped  he'd  tell  you  anyway.  I 
just — hadn't  the  face  to  come  to  you  myself  after 


238          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

what  had  happened  between  us.  Look  here,  Dave, 
you've  treated  me  '  white '  since  then — I  mean 
about  that  mill  of  mine.  You  see — well,  I  can't 
just  forget  old  days  and  old  friendships.  They're 
on  my  conscience  bad.  I  want  to  straighten  up. 
I  want  to  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am  for  what  I've 
done  and  said  in  the  past.  You'd  have  done  right 
if  you'd  broken  my  neck  for  me.  I  went  east  as  I 
said,  and  all  these  things  hung  on  my  conscience 
like — like  cobwebs,  and  I'm  determined  to  clear 
'em  away.  Dave,  I  want  to  shake  hands  before  I 
go  for  good.  I  want  you  to  try  and  forget.  The 
strike's  over  now,  and  I'm  going  away  to-day. 
I " 

He  broke  off.  It  seemed  as  though  he  had  sud- 
denly realized  the  frigidity  of  Dave's  silence  and 
the  hollow  ring  of  his  own  professions.  It  is  doubt- 
ful if  he  were  shamed  into  silence.  It  was  simply 
that  there  was  no  encouragement  to  go  on,  and,  in 
spite  of  his  effrontery,  he  was  left  confused. 

"You're  going  to-day ?"  Dave's  calmness  gave 
no  indication  of  his  feelings.  Nor  did  he  offer  to 
shake  hands. 

Truscott  nodded.     Then  — 

"  The  smash — was  it  a  very  bad  one  ?  " 

"  Pretty  bad." 

"  It — it  won't  interfere  with  your  work — I 
hope  ? " 

"  Some." 

Dave's  eyes  were  fixed  steadily  upon  his  visitor, 
who  let  his  gaze  wander.  There  was  something 


FACE  TO  FACE  239 

painfully  disconcerting  in  the  lumberman's  cold  re- 
gard, and  in  the  brevity  of  his  replies. 

4<  Doc  Symons  told  me  about  it,"  the  other  went 
on  presently.  "  He  was  fetched  here  in  the  night. 
He  said  you  were  hurt.  But  you  seem  all  right." 

Dave  made  it  very  hard  for  him.  There  were 
thoughts  in  the  back  of  his  head,  questions  that 
must  be  answered.  For  an  instant  a  doubt  swept 
over  him,  and  his  restless  eyes  came  to  a  standstill 
on  the  rugged  face  of  the  master  of  the  mills.  But 
he  saw  nothing  there  to  reassure  him,  or  to  give 
him  cause  for  alarm.  It  was  the  same  as  he  had 
always  known  it,  only  perhaps  the  honest  gray 
eyes  lacked  their  kindly  twinkle. 

"  Yes,  I'm  all  right.     Doc  talks  a  heap." 

"Did  he  lie?" 

Dave  shrugged. 

"  It  depends  what  he  calls  hurt.  Some  of  the 
boys  were  hurt." 

"  Ah.     He  didn't  mention  them." 

Again  the  conversation  languished. 

"  I  didn't  hear  how  the  smash  happened,"  Trus- 
cott  went  on  presently. 

Dave's  eyes  suddenly  became  steely. 

"  It  was  Mansell's  saw.  Something  broke.  Then 
we  got  afire.  I  just  got  out — a  miracle.  I  was  in 
the  tally  room." 

The  lumberman's  brevity  had  in  it  the  clip  of 
snapping  teeth.  If  Truscott  noticed  it,  it  suited 
him  to  ignore  it.  He  went  on  quickly.  His  in- 
terest was  rising  and  sweeping  him  on. 


240          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

"  On  Mansell's  saw  ! "  he  said.  "  When  I  heard 
you'd  got  him  working  I  wondered.  He's  bad  for 
drink.  Was  he  drunk  ?  " 

Dave's  frigidity  was  no  less  for  the  smile  that  ac- 
companied his  next  words. 

"  Maybe  he'd  been  drinking." 

But  Truscott  was  not  listening.  He  was  think- 
ing ahead,  and  his  next  question  came  with  almost 
painful  sharpness. 

"  Did  he  get — smashed  ?  " 

«  A  bit." 

"Ah.  Was  he  able  to  account  for  the — acci- 
dent ?  " 

The  man  was  leaning  forward  in  his  anxiety,  and 
his  question  was  literally  hurled  at  the  other. 
There  was  a  look,  too,  in  his  bleared  eyes  which 
was  a  mixture  of  devilishness  and  fear.  All  these 
things  Dave  saw.  But  he  displayed  no  feeling  of 
any  sort. 

"Accidents  don't  need  explaining,"  he  said 
slowly.  "  But  I  didn't  say  this  was  an  accident. 
Here,  get  your  eye, on  that." 

He  drew  a  piece  of  saw-blade  from  his  pocket. 
It  was  the  piece  he  had  picked  up  in  the  mill. 

"  Guess  it's  the  bit  where  it's  '  collared '  by  the 
driving  arm." 

Truscott  examined  the  steel  closely. 

"Well?" 

"  It's — just  smashed  ?  "  Truscott  replied  question- 
ingly. 

Dave  shook  his  head. 


FACE  TO  FACE  241 

"  You  can  see  where  it's  been  filed." 

Truscott  reexamined  it  and  nodded. 

"  I  see  now.     God  ! " 

The  exclamation  was  involuntary.  It  came  at 
the  sudden  realization  of  how  well  his  work  had 
been  carried  out,  and  what  that  work  meant. 
Dave,  watching,  grasped  something  of  its  meaning. 
There  was  that  within  him  which  guided  him 
surely  in  the  mental  workings  of  his  fellow  man. 
He  was  looking  into  the  very  heart  of  this  man 
who  had  so  desperately  tried  to  injure  him.  And 
what  he  saw,  though  he  was  angered,  stirred  him  to 
a  strange  pity. 

"  It's  pretty  mean  when  you  think  of  it,"  he  said 
slowly.  "  Makes  you  think  some,  doesn't  it  ? 
Makes  you  wonder  what  folks  are  made  of.  If  you 
hated,  could  you  have  done  it  ?  Could  you  have 
deliberately  set  out  to  ruin  a  fellow — to  take  his 
life  ?  The  man  that  did  this  thing  figured  on  just 
that." 

"  Did  he  say  so  ?  " 

Truscott's  face  had  paled,  and  a  haunting  fear 
looked  out  of  his  eyes.  It  was  the  thought  of  dis- 
covery that  troubled  him. 

Dave  ignored  the  interruption,  and  went  on  with 
his  half-stern,  half-pitying  regard  fixed  upon  the 
other. 

"  Had  things  gone  right  with  him,  and  had  the 
fire  got  a  fair  hold,  nothing  could  have  saved  us." 
He  shook  his  head.  "  That's  a  mean  hate  for  a 
man  I've  never  harmed.  For  a  man  I've  always 


242  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

helped.  You  couldn't  hate  like  that,  Truscott? 
You  couldn't  turn  on  the  man  that  had  so  helped 
you  ?  It's  a  mean  spirit ;  so  mean  that  I  can't  hate 
him  for  it.  I'm  sorry — that's  all." 

"  He  must  be  a  devil." 

The  fear  had  gone  out  of  Truscott's  eyes.  All 
his  cool  assurance  had  returned.  Dave  was  blam- 
ing the  sawyer,  and  he  was  satisfied. 

The  lumberman  shrugged  his  great  shoulders. 

"  Maybe  he  is.  I  don't  know.  Maybe  he's  only 
a  poor  weak  foolish  fellow  whose  wits  are  all 
mussed  up  with  brandy,  and  so  he  just  doesn't 
know  what  he's  doing." 

"  The  man  who  filed  that  steel  knew  what  he  was 
doing,"  cried  Truscott. 

"  Don't  blame  him,"  replied  Dave — his  deep 
voice  full  and  resonant  like  an  organ  note. 

But  Truscott  had  achieved  his  object,  and  he  felt 
like  expanding.  Dave  knew  nothing.  Suspected 
nothing.  Mansell  had  played  the  game  for  him — 
or  perhaps 

"  I  tell  you  it  was  a  diabolical  piece  of  villainy 
on  the  part  of  a  cur  who " 

"  Don't  raise  your  voice,  lad,"  said  Dave,  with  a 
sudden  solemnity  that  promptly  silenced  the  other. 
"  Reach  round  behind  you  and  lift  that  fur  robe." 

He  had  risen  from  his  seat  and  stood  pointing 
one  knotty  finger  at  the  corner  where  the  dead 
man  was  lying.  His  great  figure  was  full  of 
dignity,  his  manner  had  a  command  in  it  that  was 
irresistible  to  the  weaker  man. 


FACE  TO  FACE  243 

Truscott  turned,  not  knowing  what  to  expect. 
For  a  second  a  shudder  passed  over  him.  It  spent 
itself  as  he  beheld  nothing  but  the  pile  of  furs. 
But  he  made  no  attempt  to  reach  the  robe  until 
Dave's  voice,  sternly  commanding,  urged  him 
again. 

"  Lift  it,"  he  cried. 

And  the  other  obeyed  even  against  his  will.  He 
reached  out,  while  a  great  unaccountable  fear  took 
hold  of  him  and  shook  him.  His  hand  touched 
the  robe.  He  paused.  Then  his  fingers  closed 
upon  its  furry  edge.  He  lifted  it,  and  lifting  it,  be- 
held the  face  of  the  dead  sawyer.  Strangely  enough, 
the  glazed  eyes  were  open,  and  the  head  was 
turned,  so  that  they  looked  straight  into  the  eyes  of 
the  living. 

The  hand  that  held  the  robe  shook.  The  nerve- 
less fingers  relinquished  their  hold,  and  it  fell  back 
to  its  place  and  shut  out  the  sight.  But  it  was  some 
moments  before  the  man  recovered  himself.  When 
he  did  so  he  rose  from  his  chair  and  moved  as  far 
from  the  dead  man  as  possible.  This  brought  him 
near  the  door,  and  Dave  followed  him  up. 

"  He's  dead !  " 

Truscott  whispered  the  words  half  unconsciously, 
and  the  tone  of  his  voice  was  almost  unrecogniz- 
able. It  sounded  like  inquiry,  yet  he  had  no  need  to 
ask  the  question. 

"  Yes,  he's  dead — poor  fellow,"  said  Dave 
solemnly. 

Then,  after  a  long  pause,  the  other  dragged  his 


244  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

courage  together.     He   looked   up   into   the  face 

above  him. 

"  Did — did  he  say  why  he  did  it — or  was  he " 

It  was  a  stumbling  question,  which  Dave  did  not 

let  him  complete. 

"  Yes,  he   told   me   aF  —the   whole  story  of  it. 

That's   the   door,  lad.     /ou  won't   need  to  shake 

hands — now." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

IN    THE    MOUNTAINS 

IT  was  Sunday  evening.  Inside  a  capacious 
"  dugout  "  a  small  group  of  two  men  and  a  girl  sat 
round  the  stove  which  had  just  been  lit. 

In  the  mountains,  even  though  the  heat  of 
August  was  still  at  its  height,  sundown  was  the 
signal  for  the  lighting  of  fires.  Dave's  lumber 
camps  were  high  up  in  the  hills,  tapping,  as  they 
did,  the  upper  forest  belts,  where  grew  the  vast 
primordial  timbers.  In  the  extreme  heat  of  sum- 
mer the  air  was  bracing,  crisp,  and  suggested  the 
process  of  breathing  diamonds,  but  with  the  setting 
of  the  sun  a  cold  shiver  from  the  ancient  glaciers 
above  whistled  down  through  the  trees  and  bit  into 
the  bones. 

The  daylight  still  lingered  outside,  and  the  cotton- 
covered  windows  of  the  dugout  let  in  just  sufficient 
of  it  to  leave  the  remoter  corners  of  the  hut  bathed 
in  rapidly  growing  shadow.  There  was  a  good  deal 
of  comfort  in  the  room,  though  no  luxury.  The 
mud  cemented  walls  were  whitewashed  and  adorned 
with  illustrations  from  the  Police  Gazette,  and  other 
kindred  papers.  For  the  most  part  the  furniture 
was  of  "  home  "  manufacture.  The  chairs,  and  they 
were  all  armchairs  of  sorts,  were  mere  frames  with 
seats  of  strung  rawhide.  The  table  was  of  the 


246  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

roughest  but  most  solid  make,  strong  enough  to  be 
used  as  a  chopping-block,  and  large  enough  for  an 
extra  bed  to  be  made  down  upon  it.  There  was 
a  large  cupboard  serving  the  dual  purpose  of  larder 
and  pantry,  and,  in  addition  to  the  square  cook- 
stove,  the  room  was  heated  by  a  giant  wood  stove. 
The  only  really  orthodox  piece  of  furniture  was  the 
small  writing-desk. 

For  a  dugout  it  was  capacious,  and,  unlike  the 
usual  dugout,  it  possessed  three  inner  rooms  back- 
ing into  the  hill  against  which  it  was  built.  One  of 
these  w'as  a  storeroom  for  dynamite  and  other 
camp  equipment,  one  was  a  bedroom,  and  the  other 
was  an  armory.  The  necessity  for  the  latter 
might  be  questioned,  but  Bob  Mason,  the  camp 
"  boss,"  the  sole  authority  over  a  great  number  of 
lumber-jacks,  more  than  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
from  the  faintest  semblance  of  civilization,  was  con- 
tent that  it  should  be  there. 

The  three  faces  were  serious  enough  as  they 
gazed  down  in  silence  at  the  glowing,  red-hot  patch 
in  the  iron  roof  of  the  stove,  and  watched  it  spread, 
wider  and  wider,  under  the  forced  draught  of  the 
open  damper.  They  had  been  silent  for  some  mo- 
ments, and  before  that  one  of  them  had  practically 
monopolized  the  talk.  It  was  Betty  who  had  done 
most  of  the  talking.  Bronzed  with  the  mountain 
air  and  sun,  her  cheeks  flushed  with  interest  and  ex- 
citement, her  sweet  brown  eyes  aglow,  she  had 
finished  recounting  to  her  uncle  and  Bob  Mason  a 
significant  incident  that  had  occurred  to  her  that 


IN  THE  MOUNTAINS  247 

afternoon  on  her  way  from  the  sick  camp  to  the 
dugout. 

Walking  through  a  patch  of  forest  which  cut  the 
sick  quarters  off  from  the  main,  No.  I,  camp,  she 
had  encountered  two  lumber-jacks,  whom  she  had 
no  recollection  of  having  seen  before. 

"  They  weren't  like  lumber-jacks,"  she  explained, 
"except  for  their  clothes.  You  can't  mistake  a 
lumber-jack's  manner  and  speech,  particularly  when 
he  is  talking  to  a  girl.  He's  so  self-conscious  and 
— and  shy.  Well,  these  men  were  neither.  Their 
speech  was  the  same  as  ours  might  be,  and  their 
faces,  well,  they  were  good-looking  fellows,  and 
might  never  have  been  out  of  a  city.  I  never  saw 
anybody  look  so  out  of  place,  as  they  did,  in  their 
clothes.  There  was  no  beating  about  the  bush 
with  them.  They  simply  greeted  me  politely, 
asked  me  if  I  was  Miss  Somers,  and,  when  I  told 
them  I  was,  calmly  warned  me  to  leave  the  hills 
without  delay — not  later  than  to-morrow  night.  I 
asked  them  for  an  explanation,  but  they  only 
laughed,  not  rudely,  and  repeated  their  warning, 
adding  that  you,  uncle,  had  better  go  too,  or  they 
would  not  be  answerable  for  the  consequences.  I 
reminded  them  of  the  sick  folk,  but  they  only 
laughed  at  that  too.  One  of  them  cynically  re- 
minded me  they  were  all '  jacks '  and  were  of  no 
sort  of  consequence  whatever,  in  fact,  if  a  few  of 
them  happened  to  die  off  no  one  would  care.  He 
made  me  angry,  and  I  told  them  we  should  cer- 
tainly care.  He  promptly  retorted,  very  sharply, 


248  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

that  they  had  not  come  there  to  hold  any  sort  of 
debate  on  the  matter,  but  to  give  me  warning.  He 
said  that  his  reason  in  doing  so  was  simply  that  I 
was  a  girl,  and  that  you,  uncle,  were  a  much-re- 
spected parson,  and  they  had  no  desire  that  any 
harm  should  come  to  either  of  us.  That  was  all. 
After  that  they  turned  away  and  went  off  into  the 
forest,  taking  an  opposite  direction  to  the  camp." 

Mason  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence  that  fol- 
lowed the  girl's  story. 

"  It's  serious,"  he  said,  speaking  with  his  chin  in 
his  hands  and  his  elbows  resting  on  his  parted  knees. 

"The  warning?"  inquired  Chepstow,  with  a 
quick  glance  at  the  other's  thoughtful  face. 

Mason  nodded. 

"  I've  been  watching  this  thing  for  weeks  past," 
he  said,  "  and  the  worst  of  it  is  I  can't  make  up  my 
mind  as  to  the  meaning  of  it.  There's  something 

afoot,  but Do  you  know  I've  sent  six  letters 

down  the  river  to  Dave,  and  none  of  them  have 
been  answered  ?  My  monthly  budget  of  orders  is 
a  week  overdue.  That's  not  like  Dave.  How  long 
have  you  been  up  here  ?  Seven  weeks,  ain't  it  ? 
I've  only  had  three  letters  from  Dave  in  that  time." 

The  foreman  flung  himself  back  in  his  chair  with 
a  look  of  perplexity  on  his  broad,  open  face. 

"  What  can  be  afoot  ?  "  asked  Chepstow,  after  a 
pause.  "  The  men  are  working  well." 

"  They're  working  as  well  as  '  scabs  '  generally 
do,"  Mason  complained.  "  And  thirty  per  cent, 
are  '  scabs/  now.  They're  all  slackers.  They're 


IN  THE  MOUNTAINS  249 

none  of  them  lumber-jacks.  They  haven't  the  spirit 
of  a  'jack.'  I  have  to  drive  'em  from  morning  till 
night.  Oh,  by  the  way,  parson,  that  reminds  me, 
I've  got  a  note  for  you.  It's  from  the  sutler.  I 
know  what's  in  it,  that  is,  I  can  guess."  He  drew 
it  from  his  pocket,  handed  it  across  to  him.  "  It's 
to  tell  you  you  can't  have  the  store  for  service  to- 
night. The  boys  want  it.  They're  going  to  have 
a  singsong  there,  or  something  of  the  sort." 

The  churchman's  eyes  lit. 

"  But  he  promised  me.  I've  made  arrangements. 
The  place  is  fixed  up  for  it.  They  can  have  it 
afterward,  but " 

"  Hadn't  you  better  read  the  note,  uncle  ?  "  Betty 
said  gently.  She  detected  the  rising  storm  in  his 
vehemence. 

He  turned  at  once  to  the  note.  It  was  short,  and 
its  tone,  though  apologetic,  was  decided  beyond 
all  question. 


"  You  can't  have  the  store  to-night.  I'm  sorry, 
but  the  boys  insist  on  having  it  themselves.  You 
will  understand  I  am  quite  powerless  when  you  re- 
member they  are  my  customers." 


Tom  Chepstow  read  the  message  from  Jules 
Lieberstein  twice  over.  Then  he  passed  it  across 
to  Mason.  Only  the  brightness  of  his  eyes  told  of 
his  feelings.  He  was  annoyed,  and  his  fighting 
spirit  was  stirring. 

"  Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  ? "  Mason  in- 


250          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

quired,  as  he  passed  the  paper  on  to  Betty  in  re- 
sponse to  her  silent  request. 

"  Do  ?  Do  ? "  Chepstow  cried,  his  keen  eyes 
shining  angrily.  "  Why,  I'll  hold  service  there,  of 
course.  Jules  can't  give  a  thing,  and,  at  the  last 
minute,  take  it  away  like  that.  I've  had  the  room 
prepared  and  everything.  I  shall  go  and  see  him. 
I " 

"  The  trouble — whatever  it  is — is  in  that  note, 
too,"  Betty  interrupted,  returning  him  the  paper 
with  the  deliberate  intention  of  checking  his  out- 
burst. 

Mason  gave  her  a  quick  glance  of  approval. 
Though  he  did  not  approve  of  women  in  a  lumber 
camp,  Betty's  quiet  capacity,  her  gentle  womanliness, 
with  her  great  strength  of  character  and  keenness 
of  perception  underlying  it,  pleased  him  immensely. 
He  admired  her,  and  curiously  enough  frequently 
found  himself  discussing  affairs  of  the  camp  with 
her  as  though  she  were  there  for  the  purpose  of 
sharing  the  burden  of  his  responsibilities.  In  the 
ordinary  course  this  would  not  have  happened,  but 
she  had  come  at  a  moment  when  his  difficulties 
were  many  and  trying.  And  at  such  a  time  her 
ready  understanding  had  become  decided  moral 
support  which  was  none  the  less  welcome  for  the 
fact  that  he  failed  to  realize  it. 

"  You're  right,"  he  nodded.  "  There's  something 
doing.  What's  that  ?  " 

All  three  glanced  at  the  door.  And  there  was  a 
look  of  uneasiness  in  each  which  they  could  not 


IN  THE  MOUNTAINS  251 

'  have  explained.  Mason  hurried  across  the  room 
with  Chepstow  at  his  heels. 

Outside,  night  was  closing  in  rapidly.  A  gray, 
misty  twilight  held  the  mountain  world  in  a  gloomy 
shroud.  The  vast  hills,  and  the  dark  woodland 
belts,  loomed  hazily  through  the  mist.  But  the 
deathly  stillness  was  broken  by  the  rattle  of  wheels 
and  the  beating  of  hoofs  upon  the  hard  trail.  The 
vehicle,  whatever  it  was,  had  passed  the  dugout, 
and  the  sounds  of  it  were  already  dying  away  in 
the  direction  of  the  distant  camp. 

"  There's  a  fog  coming  down,"  observed  Mason, 
as  they  returned  to  the  stove. 

"  That  was  a  buckboard,"  remarked  the  parson. 

"  And  it  was  traveling  fast  and  light,"  added 
Betty. 

And  each  remark  indicated  the  point  of  view  of 
the  speaker. 

Mason  thought  less  of  the  vehicle  than  he  did  of 
the  fog.  Any  uneasiness  he  felt  was  for  his  work 
rather  than  the  trouble  he  felt  to  be  brewing.  A 
heavy  fog  was  always  a  deterrent,  and,  at  this  time 
of  year,  fogs  were  not  unfrequent  in  the  hills. 
Chepstow  was  bent  on  the  identity  of  the  arrival, 
while  Betty  sought  the  object  of  it. 

Mason  did  not  return  to  his  seat.  He  stood  by 
the  stove  for  a  moment  thinking.  Then  he  moved 
across  to  his  pea-jacket  hanging  on  the  wall  and 
put  it  on,  at  the  same  time  slipping  a  revolver  into 
his  pocket.  Then  he  pulled  a  cloth  cap  well  down 
over  his  eyes. 


252  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

"  I'll  get  a  good  look  around  the  camp,"  he  said 
quietly. 

"  Going  to  investigate  ?  "  Chepstow  inquired. 

"  Yes.  There  have  been  too  many  arrivals  lately 
— one  way  and  another.  I'm  sick  of  "em." 

Betty  looked  up  into  his  face  with  round  smiling 
eyes. 

"  You  need  a  revolver — to  make  investigations  ?  " 
she  asked  lightly. 

The  lumberman  looked  her  squarely  in  the  eyes 
for  a  moment,  and  there  he  read  something  of  the 
thought  which  had  prompted  her  question.  He 
smiled  back  at  her  as  he  replied. 

"  It's  a  handy  thing  to  have  about  you  when 
dealing  with  the  scum  of  the  earth.  Lumbermen 
on  this  continent  are  not  the  beau  ideal  of  gentle- 
folk, but  when  you  are  dealing  with  the  class  of 
loafer  such  as  I  have  been  forced  to  engage  lately, 
well,  the  real  lumber-jack  becomes  an  angel  of 
gentleness  by  contrast.  A  gun  doesn't  take  up 
much  room  in  your  pocket,  and  it  gives  an  added 
feeling  of  security.  You  see,  if  there's  any  sort  of 
trouble  brewing  the  man  in  authority  is  not  likely 
to  have  a  healthy  time.  By  the  way,  parson,  I'd 
suggest  you  give  up  this  service  to-night.  Of 
course  it's  up  to  you,  I  don't  want  to  interfere. 
You  see,  if  the  boys  want  that  store,  and  you've 
got  it — why " 

He  broke  off  with  a  suggestive  shake  of  the  head. 
Betty  watched  her  uncle's  face. 

She  saw  him  suddenly  bend  down  and  fling  the 


IN  THE  MOUNTAINS  253 

damper  wider  open,  and  in  response  the  stove 
roared  fiercely.  He  sat  with  his  keen  eyes  fixed  on 
the  glowing  aperture,  watching  the  rapidly  brighten- 
ing light  that  shone  through.  The  suggestion  of 
fiery  rage  suited  his  mood  at  the  moment. 

But  his  anger  was  not  of  long  duration.  His  was 
an  impetuous  disposition  generally  controlled  in 
the  end  by  a  kindly,  Christian  spirit,  and,  a  few 
moments  later,  when  he  spoke,  there  was  the  mild- 
ness of  resignation  in  his  words. 

"  Maybe  you're  right,  Mason,"  he  said  calmly. 
"  You  understand  these  boys  up  here  better  than  I 
do.  Besides,  I  don't  want  to  cause  you  any  un- 
necessary trouble,  and  I  see  by  your  manner  you're 
expecting  something  serious."  Then  he  added 
regretfully  :  "  But  I  should  have  liked  to  hold  that 
service.  And  I  would  have  done  it,  in  spite  of  our 

Hebrew  friend's  sordid  excuse.  However By 

the  way,  can  I  be  of  any  service  to  you  ?  "  He 
pointed  at  the  lumberman's  bulging  pocket.  "  If 
it's  necessary  to  carry  that,  two  are  always  better 
than  one." 

Betty  sighed  contentedly.  She  was  glad  that  her 
uncle  had  been  advised  to  give  up  the  service.  Her 
woman's  quick  wit  had  taken  alarm  for  him,  and — 
well,  she  regarded  her  simple-minded  uncle  as  her 
care,  she  felt  she  was  responsible  to  her  aunt  for  him. 
It  was  the  strong  maternal  instinct  in  her  which 
made  her  yearn  to  protect  and  care  for  those  whom 
she  loved.  Now  she  waited  anxiously  for  the  fore- 
man's reply.  To  her  astonishment  it  came  with  an 


254          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

alacrity  and  ready  acceptance  which  further  stirred 
her  alarm. 

"  Thanks,"  he  said.  « As  you  say  two 

Here,  slip  this  other  gun  into  your  coat  pocket." 
And  he  reached  the  fellow  revolver  to  his  own  from 
its  holster  upon  the  wall.  "  Now  let's  get  on." 

He  moved  toward  the  door.  Chepstow  was  in 
the  act  of  following  when  Betty's  voice  stopped 
him. 

"  What  time  will  you  get  back  ?  "  she  inquired. 
"  How  shall  I  know  that " 

She  broke  off.  Her  brown  eyes  were  fixed 
questioningly  upon  the  lumberman's  face. 

"We'll  be  around  in  an  hour,"  said  Mason  con- 
fidently. "  Meanwhile,  Miss  Betty,  after  we're 
gone,  just  set  those  bars  across  the  door.  And 
don't  let  anybody  in  till  you  hear  either  mine  or 
your  uncle's  voice." 

The  girl  understood  him,  she  always  understood 
without  asking  a  lot  of  questions.  She  was  out- 
wardly quite  calm,  without  the  faintest  trace  of  the 
alarm  she  really  felt.  She  had  no  fear  for  herself. 
At  that  moment  she  was  thinking  of  her  uncle. 

After  the  men  had  gone  she  closed  the  heavy 
log  door  but  did  not  bar  it  as  she  had  been  advised  ; 
then,  returning  to  the  stove,  she  sat  down  and 
took  up  some  sewing,  prepared  to  await  their  return 
with  absolute  faith  and  confidence  in  the  lumber- 
man's assurance. 

She  stitched  on  in  the  silence,  and  soon  her 
thoughts  drifted  back  to  the  man  who  had  so 


IN  THE  MOUNTAINS  255 

strangely  become  the  lodestone  of  her  life.  The 
trouble  suggested  by  Mason  must  be  his  trouble. 
She  wondered  what  could  possibly  happen  on  top 
of  the  fever,  which  she  and  her  uncle  had  been 
fighting  for  the  past  weeks,  that  could  further 
jeopardize  his  contract.  She  could  see  only  one 
thing,  and  her  quickness  of  perception  in  all  matters 
relating  to  the  world  she  knew  drove  her  straight  to 
the  reality.  She  knew  it  was  a  general  strike 
Mason  feared.  She  knew  it  by  the  warning  she 
had  received,  by  the  foreman's  manner  when  he 
prepared  to  leave  the  hut. 

She  was  troubled.  In  imagination  she  saw  the 
great  edifice  Dave  had  so  ardently  labored  upon 
toppling  about  his  ears.  In  her  picture  she  saw 
him  great,  calm,  resolute,  standing  amidst  the 
wreck,  with  eyes  looking  out  straight  ahead  full  of 
that  great  fighting  strength  which  was  his,  his  heart 
sore  and  bruised  but  his  lips  silent,  his  great  cour- 
age and  purpose  groping  for  the  shattered  founda- 
tions, that  the  rebuilding  might  not  be  delayed  an 
instant.  It  was  her  delight  and  pride  to  think  of 
him  thus,  whilst,  with  every  heart-beat,  a  nervous 
dread  for  him  shook  her  whole  body.  She  tried  to 
think  wherein  she  could  help  this  man  who  was 
more  to  her  than  her  own  life.  She  bitterly  hated 
her  own  womanhood  as  she  thought  of  those  two 
men  bearing  arms  at  that  instant  in  his  interests. 
Why  could  not  she  ?  But  she  knew  that  privilege 
was  denied  her.  She  threw  her  sewing  aside  as 
though  the  effeminacy  of  it  sickened  her,  and  rose 


2$6          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

from  her  seat  and  paced  the  room.  "  Oh,  Dave, 
Dave,  why  can't  I  help  you  ?  "  It  was  the  cry  that 
rang  through  her  troubled  brain  with  every  mo- 
ment that  the  little  metal  clock  on  the  desk  ticked 
away,  while  she  waited  for  the  men-folk's  return. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   CHURCH   MILITANT 

OUTSIDE  the  hut  Mason  led  the  way.  The  mist 
had  deepened  into  a  white  fog  which  seemed  to 
deaden  all  sound,  so  quiet  was  everything,  so  silent 
the  grim  woods  all  around.  It  had  settled  so  heavily 
that  it  was  almost  impossible  to  see  anything  be- 
yond the  edge  of  the  trail.  There  was  just  a  hazy 
shadow,  like  a  sudden  depth  of  mist,  to  mark  the 
woodland  borders;  beyond  this  all  was  gray  and 
desolate. 

The  dugout  was  built  at  the  trail-side,  a  trail 
which  had  originally  been  made  for  travoying  logs, 
but  had  now  become  the  main  trail  linking  up  the 
camp  with  the  eastern  world.  The  camp  itself — 
No.  I,  the  main  camp — was  further  in  the  woods  to 
the  west,  a  distance  of  nearly  a  mile  and  a  half  by 
trail,  but  not  more  than  half  a  mile  through  the 
woods.  It  was  this  short  cut  the  two  men  took 
now.  They  talked  as  they  went,  but  in  hushed 
tones.  It  was  as  though  the  gray  of  the  fog,  and 
the  knowledge  of  their  mission  weighed  heavily, 
inspiring  them  with  a  profound  feeling  of  caution. 

"  You've  not  had  any  real  trouble  before  ? " 
Chepstow  asked.  "  I  mean  trouble  such  as  would 
serve  you  with  a  key  to  what  is  going  on  now  ?  " 

"  Oh,  we've  had  occasional '  rackets,' "  said  Mason 


258  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

easily.  "  But  nothing  serious — nothing  to  guide  us 
in  this.  No,  we've  got  to  find  this  out.  You  see 
there's  no  earthly  reason  for  trouble  that  I  know. 
The  boys  are  paid  jolly  well,  a  sight  better  than  I 
would  pay  them  if  this  was  my  outfit.  The  hours 
are  exacting,  I  admit.  This  huge  contract  has 
caused  that.  It's  affected  us  in  most  every  way, 
but  Dave  is  no  niggard,  and  the  inducement  has 
been  made  more  than  proportionate,  so  there's  no 
kick  coming  on  that  head.  Where  before  axemen's 
work  was  merely  a  full  eight  hours,  it  now  takes 
'em  something  like  nine  and  ten,  and  work  like  the 
devil  to  get  through  even  in  that  time.  But  their 
wages  are  simply  out  of  sight.  Do  you  know, 
there  are  men  in  this  camp  drawing  from  four  to 
five  dollars  a  day  clear  of  food  and  shelter  ?  Why, 
the  income  of  some  of  them  is  positively  princely." 

"  What  is  it  you  think  is  on  foot  ?  "  Chepstow 
demanded,  as  he  buttoned  his  coat  close  about  his 
neck  to  keep  out  the  saturating  mist.  Then,  as  his 
companion  didn't  answer  at  once,  he  added  half  to 
himself,  "  It's  no  wonder  there's  fever  with  these 
mists  around." 

Bob  Mason  paid  no  heed  to  the  last  remark. 
The  fever  had  lost  interest  for  him  in  the  storm- 
clouds  he  now  saw  ahead.  Hitherto  he  had  not 
put  his  thoughts  on  the  matter  into  concrete  form. 
He  had  not  given  actual  expression  to  his  fears. 
There  had  been  so  little  to  guide  him.  Besides,  he 
had  had  no  sound  reason  to  fear  anything,  that  is 
no  definite  reason.  It  was  his  work  to  feel  and  un- 


THE  CHURCH  MILITANT  259 

derstand  the  pulse  of  the  men  under  him,  and  it 
largely  depended  on  the  accuracy  of  his  reading 
whether  or  not  the  work  under  his  charge  ran 
smoothly.  He  had  felt  for  some  time  that  some- 
thing was  wrong,  and  Betty's  story  had  confirmed 
his  feeling.  He  was  some  moments  before  he  an- 
swered, but  when  he  did  it  was  with  calm  decision. 

"  Organized  strike,"  he  said  at  last. 

Tom  Chepstow  was  startled.  The  words  "  or- 
ganized strike"  had  an  unpleasant  sound.  He 
suddenly  realized  the  isolation  of  these  hill  camps, 
the  lawless  nature  of  the  lumber-jacks.  He  felt  that 
a  strike  up  here  in  the  mountains  would  be  a  very 
different  thing  from  a  strike  in  the  heart  of  civiliza- 
tion, and  that  was  bad  enough.  The  fact  that  the 
tone  of  Mason's  pronouncement  had  suggested  no 
alarm  made  him  curious  to  hear  his  views  upon  the 
position. 

"  The  reason  ?  "  he  demanded. 

The  lumberman  shrugged. 

"  Haven't  a  notion." 

They  tramped  on  in  silence  for  some  time,  the 
sound  of  their  footsteps  muffled  in  the  fog.  The 
gray  was  deepening,  and,  with  oncoming  night, 
their  surroundings  were  rapidly  becoming  more 
and  more  obscure.  Presently  the  path  opened  out 
into  the  wide  clearing  occupied  by  No.  I  camp. 
Here  shadowy  lights  were  visible  in  the  fog,  but 
beyond  that  nothing  could  be  seen.  Mason  paused 
and  glanced  carefully  about  him. 

"  This  fog  is  useful,"  he  said,  with  a  short  laugh. 


260          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

"  As  we  don't  want  to  advertise  our  presence  we'll 
take  to  the  woods  opposite,  and  work  our  way 
round  to  the  far  side  of  the  camp." 

«  Why  the  far  side  ?  " 

"  The  store  is  that  way.  And — yes,  I  think  the 
store  is  our  best  plan.  Jules  Lieberstein  is  a  time- 
serving ruffian,  and  will  doubtless  lend  himself  to 
any  wildcat  scheme  of  his  customers.  Besides, 
this  singsong  of  the  boys  sounds  suggestive  to 
me." 

"  I  see."  Chepstow  was  quick  to  grasp  the 
other's  reasoning.  The  singsong  had  suggested 
nothing  to  him  before. 

Now  they  turned  from  the  open  and  hastened 
across  to  the  wood-belt.  As  they  entered  its 
gloomy  aisles,  the  fog  merged  into  a  pitchy  black- 
ness that  demanded  all  the  lumberman's  woodcraft 
to  negotiate.  The  parson  hung  close  to  his  heels, 
and  frequently  had  to  assure  himself  of  his  im- 
mediate presence  by  reaching  out  and  touching 
him.  A  quarter  of  an  hour's  tramp  brought  them 
to  a  halt. 

"  We  must  get  out  of  this  now,"  whispered 
Mason.  "  We  are  about  opposite  the  store.  I've 
no  doubt  that  buckboard  will  be  somewhere  around. 
I've  a  great  fancy  to  see  it." 

They  moved  on,  this  time  with  greater  caution 
than  before.  Leaving  the  forest  they  found  the  fog 
had  become  denser.  The  glow  of  the  camp  lights 
was  no  longer  visible,  just  a  blank  gray  wall 
obscured  everything.  However,  this  was  no  deter- 


THE  CHURCH  MILITANT  261 

rent  to  Mason.  He  moved  along  with  extreme 
caution,  stepping  as  lightly  and  quietly  as  possible. 
He  wished  to  avoid  observation,  and  though  the  fog 
helped  him  in  this  it  equally  afforded  the  possibility 
of  his  inadvertently  running  into  some  one.  Once 
this  nearly  happened.  His  straining  ears  caught 
the  faint  sound  of  footsteps  approaching,  and  he 
checked  his  companion  only  just  in  the  nick  of  time 
to  let  two  heavy-footed  lumber-jacks  cross  their 
course  directly  in  front  of  them.  They  were  talk- 
ing quite  unguardedly  as  they  went,  and  seemed 
absorbed  in  the  subject  of  their  conversation. 

"  Y're  a  fool,  a  measly-headed  fool,  Tyke,"  one  of 
them  was  saying,  with  a  heat  that  held  the  two  men 
listening.  "  Y'ain't  got  nuthin'  to  lose.  We  ain't 
got  no  kick  comin'  from  us  ;  I'll  allow  that,  sure.  But 
if  by  kickin'  we  ken  drain  a  few  more  dollars  out  of 
him  I  say  kick,  an'  kick  good  an'  hard.  Them  as  is 
fixin'  this  racket  knows,  they'll  do  the  fancy  work. 
We'll  jest  set  around  an' — an'  take  the  boodle  as  it 
comes." 

The  man  laughed  harshly.  The  shrewdness  of 
his  argument  pleased  him  mightily. 

"  But  what's  it  for,  though  ?  "  asked  the  other,  the 
man  addressed  as  "  Tyke."  "  Is  it  a  raise  in  wages  ?  " 

"  Say,  ain't  you  smart  ?  "  retorted  the  first  speaker. 
"  Sure,  it's  wages.  A  raise.  What  else  does  folks 
strike  for  ?  " 

"But " 

"  Cut  it.  You  ain't  no  sort  o'  savee.  You  ain't 
got  nuthin'  but  to  set  around " 


262  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

The  voice  died  away  in  the  distance,  and  Mason 
turned  to  his  companion. 

"  Not  much  doubt  about  that.  The  man  object- 
ing is  '  Tyke '  Bacon,  one  of  our  oldest  hands.  A 
thoroughly  reliable  axeman  of  the  real  sort.  The 
other  fellow's  voice  I  didn't  recognize.  I'd  say  he's 
likely  one  of  the  scallywags  I've  picked  up  lately. 
This  trouble  seems  to  have  been  brewing  ever  since 
I  was  forced  to  pick  up  chance  loafers  who  floated 
into  camp." 

Chepstow  had  no  comment  to  make,  yet  the 
matter  was  fraught  with  the  keenest  interest  for 
him.  Mason's  coolness  did  not  deceive  him,  and, 
even  with  his  limited  experience  of  the  men  of  these 
camps,  the  thing  was  more  than  significant.  Cau- 
tion became  more  than  ever  necessary  now  as  they 
neared  their  destination,  and  in  a  few  moments  a 
ruddy  glow  of  light  on  the  screen  of  fog  told  them 
they  had  reached  the  sutler's  store.  They  came  to 
a  halt  in  rear  of  the  building,  and  it  was  difficult  to 
estimate  their  exact  position.  However,  the  sound 
of  a  powerful,  clarion-like  voice  reached  them 
through  the  thickness  of  the  log  walls,  and  the 
lumberman  at  once  proceeded  to  grope  his  way 
along  in  the  hope  of  finding  a  window  or  some 
opening  through  which  it  would  be  possible  to  dis- 
tinguish the  words  of  the  speaker.  At  last  his 
desire  was  fulfilled.  A  small  break  in  the  heavy 
wall  of  lateral  logs  proved  to  be  a  cotton-covered 
pivot-window.  It  was  closed,  but  the  light  shone 
through  it,  and  the  speaker's  words  were  plainly 


THE  CHURCH  MILITANT  263 

audible.  Chepstow  closed  up  behind  him,  and  both 
men  craned  forward  listening. 

Some  one  was  addressing  what  was  apparently  a 
meeting  of  lumber-jacks.  The  words  and  voice  were 
not  without  refinement,  and,  obviously,  were  not 
belonging  to  a  lumberman.  Moreover,  it  struck 
the  listeners  that  this  man,  whoever  he  be,  was  not 
addressing  a  meeting  for  the  first  time.  In  fact 
Mason  had  no  difficulty  in  placing  him  in  the  call- 
ing to  which  he  actually  belonged.  He  was  dis- 
coursing with  all  the  delectable  speciousness  of  a 
regular  strike  organizer.  He  was  one  of  those  prod- 
ucts of  trade  unionism  who  are  always  ready  to 
create  dissatisfaction  where  labour's  contentment  is 
most  nourishing  to  capital — that  is,  at  a  price.  He 
is  not  necessarily  a  part  of  trade  unionism,  but 
exists  because  trade  unionism  has  created  a  market 
for  his  wares,  and  made  him  possible. 

Just  now  he  was  lending  all  his  powers  of  elo- 
quence and  argument  to  the  threadbare  quackery 
of  his  kind  ;  the  iniquity  of  the  possession  of  wealth 
acquired  by  the  sweat  of  a  thousand  moderately 
honest  brows.  It  was  the  old,  old  dish  garnished 
and  hashed  up  afresh,  whose  poisonous  odors  he 
was  wafting  into  the  nostrils  of  his  ignorant  audi- 
ence. 

He  was  dealing  with  men  as  ignorant  and  hard 
as  the  timber  it  was  their  life  to  cut,  and  he  painted 
the  picture  in  all  the  crude,  lurid  colors  most  effec- 
tive to  their  dull  senses.  The  blessings  of  liberal 
employment,  of  ample  wages,  the  kindly  efforts 


264          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

made  to  add  to  their  happiness  and  improve  their 
lives  were  ignored,  even  rigorously  shut  out  of  his 
argument,  or  so  twisted  as  to  appear  definite  sins 
against  the  legions  of  labor.  For  such  is  the 
method  of  those  who  live  upon  the  hard-earned 
wages  of  the  unthinking  worker. 

For  some  minutes  the  two  men  listened  to  the 
burden  of  the  man's  unctuous  periods,  but  at  last 
an  exclamation  of  disgust  broke  from  the  lumber- 
man. 

"  Makes  you  sick !  "  he  whispered  in  his  com- 
panion's ear.  "  And  they'll  believe  it  all.  Here  ! " 
He  drew  a  penknife  from  his  pocket  and  passed  the 
blade  gently  through  the  cotton  of  the  window. 
The  aperture  was  small,  he  dared  not  make  it  bigger 
for  fear  of  detection,  but,  by  pressing  one  eye  close 
up  against  it,  it  was  sufficient  for  him  to  obtain  a 
full  view  of  the  room. 

The  place  was  packed  with  lumber- jacks,  all  with 
their  keenest  attention  upon  the  speaker,  who  was 
addressing  them  from  the  reading-desk  Tom  Chep- 
stow  had  set  up  for  the  purposes  of  his  Sunday 
evening  service.  The  desecration  drew  a  smothered 
curse  from  the  lumberman.  He  was  not  a  religious 
man,  but  that  an  agitator  such  as  this  should  stand 
at  the  parson's  desk  was  too  much  for  him.  He 
scrutinized  the  fellow  closely,  nor  did  he  recognize 
him.  He  was  a  stranger  to  the  camp,  and  his 
round  fat  face  set  his  blood  surging.  Besides  this 
man  there  were  three  others  sitting  behind  him  on 
the  table  the  parson  had  set  there  for  the  purposes 


THE  CHURCH  MILITANT  265 

of  administering  Holy  Communion,  and  the  sight 
maddened  him  still  more.  Two  of  these  he  recog- 
nized as  laborers  he  had  recently  taken  on  his 
"  time  sheet,"  but  the  other  was  a  stranger  to  him. 

At  last  he  drew  back  and  made  way  for  his  com- 
panion. 

"  Get  a  good  look,  parson,"  he  said.  Then  he 
added  with  an  angry  laugh,  "  I've  thought  most 
of  what  you'll  feel  like  saying.  I'd — I'd  like  to 
riddle  the  hide  of  that  son-of-a-dog's-wife.  We  did 
well  to  get  around.  We're  in  for  a  heap  bad  time, 
I  guess." 

Chepstow  took  his  place.  Mason  heard  him 
mutter  something  under  his  breath,  and  knew  at 
once  that  the  use  of  his  reading-desk  and  Com- 
munion table  had  struck  home. 

But  the  sacrilege  was  promptly  swept  from  the 
parson's  mind.  The  speaker  was  forgotten,  the 
matter  of  the  coming  strike,  even,  was  almost  for- 
gotten. He  had  recognized  the  third  man  on  the 
table,  the  man  who  was  a  stranger  to  Mason,  and 
he  swung  round  on  the  lumberman. 

"What's  Jim  Truscott  doing  there?"  he  de- 
manded in  a  sharp  whisper. 

"  Who  ?    Jim  Truscott  ?  " 

For  a  second  a  puzzled  expression  set  Mason 
frowning.  Then  his  face  cleared.  "  Say,  isn't  that 
the  fellow  who  ran  that  mill — he's  a  friend  of — 
Dave's  ?  " 

But  the  other  had  turned  back  to  the  window. 
And,  at  that  moment,  Mason's  attention  was  also 


266          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

caught  by  the  sudden  turn  the  agitator's  talk  had 
taken. 

"  Now,  my  friends,"  he  was  saying,  "  this  is  the 
point  I  would  impress  on  you.  Hitherto  we  have 
cut  off  all  communication  of  a  damaging  nature  to 
ourselves  with  the  tyrant  at  Malkern,  but  the  time 
has  come  when  even  more  stringent  measures  must 
be  taken.  We  wish  to  conduct  our  negotiations 
with  the  mill-owner  himself,  direct.  We  must  put 
before  him  our  proposals.  We  want  no  go- 
betweens.  As  things  stand  we  cannot  reach  him, 
and  the  reason  is  the  authority  of  his  representative 
up  here.  Such  obstacles  as  he  can  put  in  our  way 
will  be  damaging  to  our  cause,  and  we  will  not 
tolerate  them.  He  must  be  promptly  set  aside, 
and,  by  an  absolute  stoppage  of  work,  we  can  force 
the  man  from  Malkern  to  come  here  so  that  we 
can  talk  to  him,  and  insist  upon  our  demands. 
We  must  talk  to  him  as  from  worker  to  fellow 
worker.  He  must  be  forced  to  listen  to  reason. 
Experience  has  long  since  taught  me  that  such  is 
the  only  way  to  deal  with  affairs  of  this  sort. 
Now,  what  we  propose,"  and  the  man  turned  with  a 
bow  to  the  three  men  behind  him,  thus  including 
them  with  himself,  "  is  that  without  violence  we 
take  possession  of  these  camps  and  strike  all  work, 
and,  securing  the  person  of  Mr.  Mason,  and  any 
others  likely  to  interfere  with  us,  we  hold  them  safe 
until  all  our  plans  are  fully  put  through.  During 
the  period  necessary  for  the  cessation  of  work,  each 
man  will  draw  an  allowance  equal  to  two-thirds  of 


THE  CHURCH  MILITANT  267 

his  wages,  and  he  will  receive  a  guarantee  of  em- 
ployment when  the  strike  is  ended.  The  sutler, 
Mr.  Lieberstein  here,  will  be  the  treasurer  of  the 
strike  funds,  and  pay  each  man  his  daily  wage. 
There  is  but  one  thing  more  I  have  to  say.  We 
intend  to  take  the  necessary  precautions  against 
interference  to-night.  The  cessation  of  work  will 
date  from  this  hour.  And  in  the  meantime  we  will 
put  to  the  vote " 

Chepstow,  his  keen  eyes  blazing,  turned  and 
faced  the  lumberman. 

"  The  scoundrels ! "  he  said,  with  more  force 
than  discretion.  "  Did  you  hear  ?  It  means " 

The  lumberman  chuckled,  but  held  up  a  warning 
hand. 

"  They're  going  to  take  me  prisoner,"  he  said. 
Then  he  added  grimly,  "  There's  going  to  be  a 
warm  time  to-night." 

But  the  churchman  was  not  listening.  Again 
his  thought  had  reverted  to  the  presence  of  Jim 
Truscott  at  that  meeting. 

"  What  on  earth  is  young  Truscott  doing  in 
there  ?  "  he  asked.  "  He  went  away  east  the  night 
I  set  out  for  these  hills.  What's  he  got  to  do  with 
that — that  rascally  agitator?  Why — he  must  be 
one  of  the — leaders  of  this  thing.  It's — it's  most 
puzzling ! " 

Chepstow's  puzzlement  did  not  communicate 
itself  to  Mason.  The  camp  "  boss "  was  less  in- 
terested in  the  identity  of  these  people  than  in  the 
strike  itself.  It  was  his  work  to  see  that  so  much 


268          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

lumber  was  sent  down  the  river  every  day.  That 
was  his  responsibility.  Dave  looked  to  him.  And 
he  was  face  to  face  with  a  situation  which  threat- 
ened the  complete  annihilation  of  all  his  employer's 
schemes.  A  strike  effectually  carried  out  might  be 
prolonged  indefinitely,  and  then  — 

"  Look  here,  parson,"  he  said  coolly,  "  I  want 
you  to  stay  right  here  for  a  minute  or  so.  They 
aren't  likely  to  be  finished  for  a  while  inside  there. 
I  want  to  « prospect.'  I  want  to  find  that  buck- 
board.  That  damned  agitator — 'scuse  the  language 
— must  have  come  up  in  it,  so  I  guess  it's  near 
handy.  The  fog's  good  and  thick,  so  there's  not  a 

heap  of  chance  of  anybody  locating  us,  still " 

he  paused  and  glanced  into  the  churchman's  alert 
eyes.  "  Have  a  look  to  your  gun,"  he  went  on 
with  a  quiet  smile,  "  and — well,  you  are  a  parson, 
but  if  anybody  comes  along  and  attempts  to  molest 
you  I'd  use  it  if  I  were  in  your  place." 

Chepstow  made  no  reply,  but  there  was  some- 
thing in  his  look  that  satisfied  the  other. 

Mason  hurried  away  and  the  parson,  left  alone, 
leant  against  the  wall,  prepared  to  wait  for  his  re- 
turn. In  spite  of  the  plot  he  had  listened  to,  the 
presence  of  Jim  Truscott  in  that  room  occupied 
most  of  his  thoughts.  It  was  most  perplexing. 
He  tried  every  channel  of  supposition  and  argument, 
but  none  gave  him  any  satisfactory  explanation. 
One  thing  alone  impressed  its  importance  on  his 
mind.  That  was  the  necessity  of  conveying  a 
warning  to  Dave.  But  he  remembered  they — 


THE  CHURCH  MILITANT  269 

these  conspirators — had  cut  communications.  Ma- 
son and  probably  he  were  to  be  made  prisoners. 

His  ire  roused.  He  blazed  into  a  sudden  fury. 
These  rascals  were  to  make  them  prisoners.  Al- 
most unconsciously  he  drew  his  gun  from  his 
pocket  and  turned  to  the  window.  As  he  did  so 
the  sound  of  approaching  footsteps  set  him  alert 
and  defensive.  He  swung  his  back  to  the  wall 
again,  and,  gun  in  hand,  stood  ready.  The  next 
moment  he  hurriedly  returned  the  weapon  to  his 
pocket,  but  not  before  Mason  had  seen  the  attitude 
and  the  fighting  expression  of  his  face,  and  it  set 
him  smiling. 

"  I've  found  the  buckboard,"  he  said  in  a  whis- 
per. Then  he  paused  and  looked  straight  into  the 
churchman's  eyes.  "We're  up  against  it,"  he 
went  on.  "  Maybe  you  as  well  as  myself.  You 
can't  tell  where  these  fellows'll  draw  the  line. 
And  there's  Miss  Betty  to  think  of,  too.  Are  you 
ready  to  buck  ?  Are  you  game  ?  You're  a  parson, 
I  know,  and  these  things " 

"  Get  to  it,  boy,"  Chepstow  interrupted  him 
sharply.  "  I  am  of  necessity  a  man  of  peace,  but 
there  are  things  that  become  a  man's  duty.  And 
it  seems  to  me  to  hit  hard  will  better  serve  God  and 
man  just  now  than  to  preach  peace.  What's  your 
plan  ?  " 

Mason  smiled.  He  knew  he  had  read  the  parson 
aright.  He  knew  he  had  in  him  a  staunch  and 
loyal  support.  He  liked,  too,  the  phrase  by  which 
he  excused  his  weakness  for  combat. 


270          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

"  Well,  I  mean  to  do  this  sponge-faced  crawler 
down,  or  break  my  neck  in  the  attempt.  I  don't 
intend  to  be  made  a  prisoner  by  any  damned 
strikers.  This  thing  means  ruin  to  Dave,  and  it's 
up  to  me  to  help  him  out.  I'm  going  to  get  word 
through  to  him.  I  understand  now  how  our  letters 
have  been  intercepted,  and  no  doubt  his  have  been 
stopped  too.  I'm  going  to  have  a  flutter  in  this 
game.  It's  a  big  one,  and  makes  me  feel  good. 
What  say  ?  Are  you  game  ?  " 

"  For  anything ! "  exclaimed  the  parson  with  eyes 
sparkling. 

"  Well,  there's  not  a  heap  of  time  to  waste  in 
talk.  I'll  just  get  you  to  slip  back  to  the  dugout. 
Gather  some  food  and  truck  into  a  sack,  and  a 
couple  of  guns  or  so,  and  some  ammunition.  Then 
get  Miss  Betty  and  slip  out.  Hike  on  down  the 
trail  a  hundred  yards  or  so  and  wait  for  me.  Can 
you  make  it  ?  " 

Chepstow  nodded. 

"  And  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I'm  going  to  get  possession  of  that  buckboard, 
and — come  right  along.  The  scheme's  rotten,  I 
know.  But  it's  the  best  I  can  think  of  at  the  mo- 
ment. It's  our  only  chance  of  warning  Dave. 
There's  not  a  second  to  spare  now,  so  cut  along. 
You've  got  to  prepare  for  a  two  days'  journey." 

"  Anything  else  ?  " 

"  Nothing.  Miss  Betty's  good  grit  —  in 
case ?  " 

Chepstow  nodded. 


THE  CHURCH  MILITANT  271 

"  Game   all  through.     How  long   can  you   give 
me?" 

"  Maybe  a  half  hour." 
1   "  Good.     I  can  make  it  in  that." 

"  Right.     S'long." 

"  S'long." 


CHAPTER   XXI 

AN  ADVENTURE  IN    THE  FOG 

TOM  CHEPSTOW  set  out  for  the  dugout.  Church- 
man as  he  was  his  blood  was  stirred  to  fighting 
heat,  his  lean,  hard  muscles  were  tingling  with  a 
nervous  desire  for  action.  Nor  did  he  attempt  to 
check  his  feelings,  or  compose  them  into  a  condi- 
tion compatible  with  his  holy  calling.  Possibly, 
when  the  time  had  passed  for  action,  and  the  man- 
tle of  peace  and  good-will  toward  all  men  had  once 
more  fallen  upon  him,  he  would  bitterly  regret  his 
outbreak,  but,  for  the  moment,  he  was  a  man,  hu- 
man, passionate,  unreasoning,  thrilling  with  the  joy 
of  life,  and  the  delight  of  a  moral  truancy  from  all 
his  accepted  principles.  No  schoolboy  could  have 
broken  the  bonds  of  discipline  with  a  greater  joy, 
and  his  own  subconscious  knowledge  of  wrong- 
doing was  no  mar  to  his  pleasure. 

The  fog  was  thick,  but  it  did  not  cause  him  great 
inconvenience.  He  took  to  the  woods  for  his 
course,  and,  keeping  close  to  the  edge  which  en- 
circled the  camp  clearing,  he  had  little  difficulty  in 
striking  the  path  to  the  dugout.  This  achieved  he 
had  but  to  follow  it  carefully.  The  one  possibility 
that  caused  him  any  anxiety  was  lest  he  should 
overshoot  the  hut  in  the  fog. 

But  he  need  have  had  no  fear  of  this.     Dense  as 


AN  ADVENTURE  IN  THE  FOG      273 

the  fog  was,  the  lights  of  the  dugout  were  plainly 
visible  when  he  came  to  it.  Betty,  with  careful 
forethought,  had  set  the  oil  lamps  in  the  two  win- 
dows. She  quite  understood  the  difficulties  of  that 
forest  land,  and  she  had  no  desire  for  the  men-folk 
to  spend  the  night  roaming  the  wilderness. 

The  parson  found  her  calmly  alert.  She  did  not 
fly  at  him  with  a  rush  of  questions.  She  was  far 
more  composed  than  he,  yet  there  was  a  sparkling 
brilliancy  in  her  brown  eyes  which  told  of  feelings 
strongly  controlled ;  her  eyelids  were  well  parted, 
and  there  was  a  shade  of  quickening  in  the  dilation 
of  her  nostrils  as  she  breathed.  She  looked  up  into 
his  face  as  he  turned  after  closing  the  door,  and  his 
tongue  answered  the  mute  challenge. 

'•  There's  to  be  a  great  game  to-night,"  he  said, 
rubbing  the  palms  of  his  hands  together.  The 
tone,  the  action,  both  served  to  point  the  state  of 
his  mind. 

Knowing  him  as  she  did  Betty  needed  no  words 
to  tell  her  that  the  "  game  "  was  to  be  no  sort  of 
play. 

"  It's  a  '  strike,'  "  he  went  on.  "  A  strike,  and 
a  bad  one.  They  intend  to  make  a  prisoner  of 
Mason,  and,  maybe,  of  us.  We've  got  to  outwit 
them.  Now,  help  me  get  some  things  together, 
and  I'll  tell  you  while  we  get  ready.  We've  got  to 
quit  to-night." 

He  picked  up  a  gunny  sack  while  he  was  speak- 
ing and  gave  it  to  Betty  to  hold  open.  Then  he 
immediately  began  to  deplete  the  lumberman's 


274  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

larder  of  any  eatables  that  could  be  easily 
carried. 

Ever  since  the  men  had  left  her  this  strike  had 
been  in  Betty's  mind,  so  his  announcement  in  no 
way  startled  her. 

"  What  of  Dave  ? "  she  asked  composedly. 
"Has  he  any — idea  of  it?" 

"  That's  just  it.  We've  got  to  let  him  know. 
He's  quite  in  the  dark.  Communications  cut. 
Mason  must  get  away  at  once  to  let  him  know. 
He  intends  to  'jump'  their  buckboard  and  team — I 
mean  these  strikers'  buckboard."  He  laughed. 
He  felt  ready  to  laugh  at  most  things.  It  was  not 
that  he  did  not  care.  His  desire  was  inspired  by 
the  thought  that  he  was  to  play  a  part  in  the 
"  game." 

"  The  one  that  came  in  to-night  ? "  Betty  asked, 
taking  up  a  fresh  sack  to  receive  some  pots  and 
blankets. 

"  Yes." 

"  And  we  are  to  bolt  with  him  ?  "  she  went  on  in 
a  peculiar  manner. 

Her  uncle  paused  in  the  act  of  putting  firearms 
and  ammunition  into  the  sack.  Her  tone  checked 
his  enthusiasm.  Then  he  laughed. 

"  We're  not  '  bolting,'  Betty,  we're  escaping  so 
that  Dave  may  get  the  news.  His  fortune  depends 
on  our  success.  Remember  our  communications 
are  cut." 

But  his  arguments  fell  upon  deaf  ears.  Betty 
smiled  and  shook  her  brown  head. 


AN  ADVENTURE  IN  THE  FOG      275 

"We're  bolting,  uncle.  Listen.  There's  no 
need  for  us  to  go.  In  fact,  we  can't  go.  Think 
for  a  moment.  Things  depend  on  the  speed  with 
which  Dave  learns  of  the  trouble.  We  should 
make  two  more  in  the  buckboard  of  which  the 
horses  are  already  tired.  Mason,  by  himself,  will 
travel  light.  Besides,  a  girl  is  a  deterrent  when  it 
comes  to — fighting.  No,  wait."  She  held  up  a 
warning  finger  as  he  was  about  to  interrupt. 
"  Then  there  are  the  sick  here.  We  cannot  leave 
them.  They — are  our  duty.  Besides,  Dave's  in- 
terests would  be  ill  served  if  we  left  the  fever  to 
continue  its  ravages  unchecked." 

In  her  last  remark  Betty  displayed  her  woman's 
practical  instinct.  Perhaps  she  was  not  fully  aware 
of  her  real  motive.  Perhaps  she  conscientiously 
believed  that  it  was  their  duty  that  claimed  her. 
Nevertheless  her  thought  was  for  the  man  she 
loved,  and  it  guided  her  every  word  and  action ;  it 
inspired  her.  The  threat  of  imprisonment  up  here 
did  not  frighten  her,  did  not  even  enter  into  her 
considerations  at  all.  Dave — her  every  nerve 
vibrated  with  desire  to  help  him,  to  save  him. 

Chepstow  suddenly  reached  out  and  laid  a  hand 
on  her  shoulder.  His  enthusiasm  had  passed,  and, 
for  the  moment,  the  churchman  in  him  was  upper- 
most again. 

"  You're  right,  Betty,"  he  said  with  decision. 
"  We  stay  here." 

The  girl's  eyes  thanked  him,  but  her  words  were 
full  of  practical  thought. 


276          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

"  Will  Mason  come  here  ?  Because,  if  so,  we'll 
get  these  things  outside  ready." 

"  No.  We've  got  to  carry  them  down  the  trail 
and  meet  him  there.  There  may  be  a  rush.  There 
may  be  a  scuffle.  We  don't  know.  I  half  think 
you'd  better  stay  here  while  I  go  and  meet  him." 

Betty  shook  her  head. 

"  I'm  going  to  help,"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  flash 
of  battle  in  her  eyes. 

"  Then  come  on."  Her  uncle  shouldered  the 
heavier  of  the  two  sacks,  and  was  about  to  tuck  the 
other  under  his  arm,  but  Betty  took  it  from  him, 
and  lifted  it  to  her  shoulder  in  a  twinkling. 

"  Halves,"  she  cried,  as  she  moved  toward  the 
door. 

The  man  laughed  light-heartedly  and  blew  out 
the  lights.  Then,  as  he  reached  the  girl's  side,  a 
distant  report  caused  him  to  stop  short. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  A  pistol  shot,"  cried  Betty.     "  Come  along !  " 

They  ran  out  of  the  hut  and  down  the  trail,  and, 
in  a  moment,  were  swallowed  up  in  the  fog. 
*  *  #  *  *  * 

Bob  Mason  intended  to  give  Chepstow  a  fair 
start.  He  knew,  if  he  were  to  be  successful,  his 
task  would  occupy  far  less  time  than  the  other's. 
And  a  vital  point  in  his  scheme  lay  in  meeting  his 
two  friends  at  the  appointed  spot. 

He  was  fully  alive  to  the  rank  audacity  of  his 
plan.  It  was  desperate,  and  the  chances  were 
heavily  against  him.  But  he  was  not  a  man  to 


AN  ADVENTURE  IN  THE  FOG      277 

shrink  from  an  undertaking  on  such  a  score.  He 
had  to  warn  Dave,  and  this  was  the  only  means 
that  suggested  itself.  If  he  were  not  a  genius  of 
invention,  he  was  at  least  full  of  courage  and  de- 
termination. 

On  his  previous  reconnoitre  he  had  located  the 
buckboard  at  the  tying-posts  in  front  of  the  store. 
Quite  why  it  had  been  left  there  he  could  not  un- 
derstand, unless  the  strike-leader  intended  leaving 
camp  that  night.  However,  the  point  of  interest 
lay  in  the  fact  of  the  vehicle  and  horses  being  there 
ready  for  his  use  if  he  could  only  safely  possess 
himself  of  them,  so  speculation  as  to  the  reason  of 
its  being  there  was  only  of  secondary  interest. 

When  he  made  his  first  move  Tom  Chepstow  had 
been  gone  some  ten  minutes.  He  groped  his  way 
carefully  along  the  wall  until  the  front  angle  of  the 
building  was  reached,  and  here  he  paused  to  ascer- 
tain the  position  of  things.  The  meeting  was  still 
in  progress  inside,  and,  as  yet,  there  seemed  to  be 
no  sign  of  its  breaking  up.  The  steady  hum  of 
voices  that  reached  him  told  him  this. 

About  twenty  yards  directly  in  front  of  him  was 
the  buckboard;  while  to  the  right,  perhaps  half 
that  distance  away,  was  the  open  door  of  the  store, 
and  adjacent  to  it  a  large  glass  window.  Both  were 
lit  up,  and  the  glow  from  the  oil  lamps  shone  dully 
on  the  fog  bank.  He  was  half  inclined  to  recon- 
noitre these  latter  to  ascertain  if  any  one  were 
about,  but  finally  decided  to  go  straight  for  his  goal 
and  chance  everything.  With  this  intention  he 


278  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

moved  straight  out  from  the  building  and  vanished 
in  the  fog. 

He  walked  quickly.  Fortune  favored  him  until  he 
was  within  a  few  yards  of  the  tying-post,  when  sud- 
denly the  clanging  of  an  iron-handled  bucket  being 
set  roughly  upon  the  ground  brought  him  to  a  dead 
standstill.  Some  one  was  tending  the  horses — 
probably  watering  them.  Evidently  they  were 
being  got  ready  for  a  journey.  Almost  uncon- 
sciously his  hand  went  to  the  pocket  in  which  he 
carried  his  revolver. 

At  that  moment  a  roar  of  applause  came  from 
the  store,  and  he  knew  the  meeting  was  drawing  to 
a  close.  Then  came  a  prolonged  cheering,  fol- 
lowed by  the  raucous  singing  of  "  He's  a  jolly  good 
fellow."  It  was  the  end. 

He  could  delay  no  longer.  Taking  his  bearings 
as  well  as  the  fog  would  permit,  he  struck  out  for 
the  tail  end  of  the  buckboard.  He  intended  reach- 
ing the  "  near-side  "  of  the  horses,  where  he  felt 
that  the  reins  would  be  looped  up  upon  the  harness, 
and  as  the  best  means  of  avoiding  the  man  with  the 
bucket. 

In  this  he  had  little  difficulty,  and  when  he 
reached  the  vehicle  he  bent  low,  and,  passing  clear 
of  the  wheels,  drew  up  toward  the  horses'  heads. 
By  this  time  the  man  with  the  bucket  was  moving 
away,  and  he  breathed  more  freely. 

But  his  relief  was  short-lived.  The  men  were  al- 
ready pouring  out  of  the  store,  and  the  fog-laden 
air  was  filled  with  the  muffled  tones  of  many  voices. 


AN  ADVENTURE  IN  THE  FOG      279 

To  add  to  his  discomfiture  he  further  became  aware 
of  footsteps  approaching.  He  could  delay  no 
longer.  He  dared  not  wait  to  let  them  pass. 
Then,  they  might  be  the  owners  of  the  buckboard. 
His  movements  became  charged  with  almost  elec- 
trical activity. 

He  reached  out  and  assured  himself  that  the  bits 
were  in  the  horses'  mouths.  Then  he  groped  for 
the  reins ;  as  he  expected,  they  were  looped  in  the 
harness.  Possessing  himself  of  them,  he  reached 
for  the  collar-chain  securing  the  horses  to  the  posts. 
He  pressed  the  swivel  open,  and,  releasing  it, 
lowered  the  chain  noiselessly.  And  a  moment 
later  two  men  loomed  up  out  of  the  fog  on  the  "  off- 
side." They  were  talking,  and  he  listened. 

"  It's  bad  med'cine  you  leaving  to-night,"  he 
heard  the  voice  of  the  strike-leader  say  in  a  grum- 
bling tone. 

"  I  can't  help  that,"  came  the  response.  It  was 
a  voice  he  did  not  recognize. 

"  Well,  we've  got  to  secure  this  man  Mason  to- 
night. You  can't  trust  these  fellows  a  heap.  Give 
'em  time,  and  some  one  will  blow  the  game.  Then 
he'll  be  off  like  a  rabbit." 

"  Well,  it's  up  to  you  to  get  him,"  the  strange 
voice  retorted  sharply.  "  I'm  paying  you  heavily. 
You've  undertaken  the  job.  Besides,  there's  that 
cursed  parson  and  his  niece  up  here.  I  daren't  take 
a  chance  of  their  seeing  me.  I  oughtn't  to  have 
come  up  here  at  all.  If  Lieberstein  hadn't  been 
such  a  grasping  pig  of  a  Jew  there  would  have  been 


280  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

no  need  for  my  coming.  You've  just  got  to  put 
everything  through  on  your  own,  Walford.  I'm 
off." 

Mason  waited  for  no  more.  The  buckboard  be- 
longed to  the  stranger,  and  he  was  about  to  use  it. 
He  laughed  inwardly,  and  his  spirits  rose.  Every- 
thing was  ready.  He  dropped  back  to  the  full  ex- 
tent of  the  reins  as  stealthily  and  as  swiftly  as  pos- 
sible. This  cleared  him  of  the  buckboard  and  hid 
him  from  the  view  of  the  men.  Then  with  a  rein 
in  each  hand  he  slapped  them  as  sharply  as  he 
could  on  the  quarters  of  the  cold  and  restless 
horses.  They  jumped  at  the  neck-yoke,  and  with 
a  "  yank  "  he  swung  them  clear  of  the  tying-posts. 
He  shouted  at  them  and  slapped  the  reins  again, 
and  the  only  too  willing  beasts  plunged  into  a 
gallop. 

He  heard  an  exclamation  from  one  of  the  men  as 
the  buckboard  shot  past  them,  and  the  other  made 
a  futile  grab  for  the  off-side  rein.  For  himself  he 
seized  the  rail  of  the  carryall  with  one  hand  and 
gave  a  wild  leap.  He  dropped  into  the  vehicle 
safely  but  with  some  force,  and  his  legs  were  left 
hanging  over  the  back. 

But  he  had  not  cleared  the  danger  yet.  He  was 
in  the  act  of  drawing  in  his  legs  when  they  were 
seized  in  an  arm  embrace,  and  the  whole  weight  of 
a  man  hung  upon  him  in  an  effort  to  drag  him  off 
the  vehicle.  There  was  no  time  to  consider.  He 
felt  himself  sliding  over  the  rail,  which  only  checked 
his  progress  for  an  instant.  But  that  instant  gave 


AN  ADVENTURE  IN  THE  FOG      281 

him  a  winning  chance.  He  drew  his  revolver,  and 
leveling  it,  aimed  point-blank  at  where  he  thought 
the  man's  shoulder  must  be.  There  was  a  loud  re- 
port, and  the  grip  on  his  legs  relaxed.  The  man 
dropped  to  the  ground,  and  he  was  left  to  scramble 
to  his  feet  and  climb  over  into  the  driving-seat. 

A  blind,  wild  drive  was  that  race  from  the  store. 
He  drove  like  a  fury  in  the  fog,  trusting  to  the  in- 
stinct of  the  horses  and  the  luck  of  the  reckless  to 
guide  him  into  the  comparative  safety  of  the  east- 
ward trail. 

As  the  horses  flew  over  the  ground  the  cries  of 
the  strikers  filled  the  air.  They  seemed  to  come 
from  every  direction,  even  ahead.  The  noise,  the 
rattle  of  the  speeding  wheels,  fired  his  excitement. 
The  fog — the  dense  gray  pall  that  hung  over  the 
whole  camp — was  his  salvation,  and  he  shouted 
back  defiance. 

It  was  a  useless  and  dangerous  thing  to  do,  and 
he  realized  his  folly  at  once.  A  great  cry  instantly 
went  up  from  the  strikers.  He  was  recognized,  and 
his  name  was  shouted  in  execration.  He  only 
laughed.  There  was  joy  in  the  feel  of  the  reins, 
in  the  pulling  of  the  mettlesome  horses.  They 
were  running  strong  and  well  within  themselves. 

It  was  only  a  matter  of  seconds  from  the  time  of 
his  start  to  the  moment  when  he  felt  the  vehicle 
bump  heavily  over  a  series  of  ruts.  He  promptly 
threw  his  weight  on  the  near-side  rein,  and  the 
horses  swung  round.  It  was  the  trail  he  was  look- 
ing for.  And  as  the  horses  settled  down  to  it  he 


282  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

breathed  more  freely.  It  was  only  after  this  point 
had  been  gained  and  passed  that  he  realized  the 
extent  of  his  previous  risk.  He  knew  that  the 
entrance  to  the  trail  on  its  far  side  was  lined  by 
log  shanties,  and  he  had  been  driving  straight  for 
them. 

In  the  midst  of  his  freshly-acquired  ease  of 
mind  came  a  sudden  and  unpleasant  recollection. 
He  remembered  the  path  through  the  woods  to  the 
dugout ;  it  was  shorter  than  the  trail  he  was  on  by 
nearly  a  mile.  While  he  had  over  a  mile  and  a 
half  to  go,  those  in  pursuit,  if  they  took  to  the  path, 
had  barely  half. 

He  listened.  But  he  knew  beforehand  that  his 
fears  were  only  too  well  founded.  Yes,  he  could 
hear  them.  The  voices  of  the  pursuers  sounded 
away  to  the  left.  They  were  abreast  of  him. 
They  had  taken  to  the  woods.  He  snatched  the 
whip  from  its  socket  and  laid  it  heavily  across  the 
horses'  backs,  and  the  animals  stretched  out  into 
a  race.  The  buckboard  jumped,  it  rattled  and 
shrieked.  The  pace  was  terrific.  But  he  was  ready 
to  take  every  chance  now,  so  long  as  he  could 
gain  sufficient  time  to  take  up  those  he  knew  to 
be  waiting  for  him  ahead. 

In  another  few  minutes  he  would  know  the 
worst — or  the  best.  Again  and  again  he  urged 
his  horses.  But  already  they  were  straining  at  the 
top  of  their  speed.  They  galloped  as  though  the 
spirit  of  the  race  had  entered  their  willing  souls. 
They  could  do  no  more  than  they  were  doing ;  it 


AN  ADVENTURE  IN  THE  FOG      283 

was  only  cruelty  to  flog  them.  If  their  present 
speed  was  insufficient  then  he  could  not  hope  to 
outstrip  the  strikers.  If  he  only  could  hear  their 
voices  dropping  behind. 

The  minutes  slipped  by.  The  fog  worried  him. 
He  was  watching  for  the  dugout,  and  he  feared  lest 
he  should  pass  it  unseen.  Nor  could  he  estimate 
the  distance  he  had  come.  Hark !  the  shouts  of 
the  pursuers  were  drawing  nearer,  and — they  were 
still  abreast  of  him  !  He  must  be  close  on  the  dug- 
out. He  peered  into  the  fog,  and  suddenly  a  dark 
shadow  at  the  trail-side  loomed  up.  There  was 
no  mistaking  it.  It  was  the  hut;  and  it  was  in 
darkness.  His  friends  must  be  on  ahead.  How 
far !  that  was  the  question.  On  that  depended 
everything. 

What  was  that  ?  The  hammering  of  heavy  feet 
on  the  hard  trail  sounded  directly  behind  him.  He 
had  gained  nothing.  Then  he  thought  of  that  halt 
that  yet  remained  in  front  of  him,  and  something  like 
panic  seized  him.  He  slashed  viciously  at  his  horses. 

He  felt  like  a  man  obsessed  with  the  thought 
of  trailing  bloodhounds.  He  must  keep  on,  on. 
There  must  be  no  pause,  no  rest,  or  the  ravening 
pack  would  fall  on  him  and  rend  him.  Yet  he 
knew  that  halt  must  come.  He  was  gaining 
rapidly  enough  now.  Without  that  halt  they  could 
never  come  up  with  him.  But — his  ears  were 
straining  for  Chepstow's  summons.  Every  second 
it  was  withheld  was  something  gained.  He  pos- 
sessed a  frantic  hope  that  some  guiding  spirit 


284          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

might  have  induced  the  churchman  to  take  up  a 
position  very  much  further  on  than  he  had  sug- 
gested. 

«  Hallo ! " 

The  call  had  come.  Chepstow  was  at  the  edge 
of  the  trail.  Mason's  hopes  dropped  to  zero.  He 
abandoned  himself  to  the  inevitable,  flung  his 
weight  on  the  reins,  and  brought  his  horses  to  a 
stand  with  a  jolt. 

"  Where's  Miss  Betty  ?  "  he  demanded.  But  his 
ears  caught  the  sound  of  the  men  behind  him,  and 
he  hurried  on  without  waiting  for  a  reply.  "  Quick, 
parson  !  The  bags  !  fling  'em  in,  and  jump  for  it ! 
They're  close  behind  !  " 

"  Betty's  gone  back,"  cried  Chepstow,  flinging 
the  sacks  into  the  carryall.  "  I'm  going  back  too. 
You  go  on  alone.  We've  got  the  sick  to  see  to. 
Tell  Dave  we're  all  right.  So  long !  Drive  on ! 
Good  luck!  Eh?" 

A  horrified  cry  from  Mason  had  caused  the  final 
ejaculation. 

He  was  pointing  at  the  off-side  horse  standing 
out  at  right  angles  to  the  pole. 

"  For  God's  sake,  fix  that  trace,"  he  cried. 
"Quick,  man!  It's  unhooked!  Gee!  What 
infern " 

Chepstow  sprang  to  secure  the  loosened  trace. 
He,  too,  could  hear  the  pursuers  close  behind.  He 
fumbled  the  iron  links  in  his  anxiety,  and  it  took 
some  moments  to  adjust. 

"  Right,"  he  cried  at  last,  after  what  seemed  an 


AN  ADVENTURE  IN  THE  FOG      285 

interminable  time.  Mason  whipped  up  his  horses, 
and  they  sprang  to  their  traces.  But  as  they  did 
so  there  was  a  sudden  rush  from  behind,  and  a 
figure  leapt  on  to  the  carryall.  The  buckboard 
rocked  and  the  driver,  in  the  act  of  shouting  at  his 
horses,  felt  himself  seized  by  the  throat  from  behind. 

Fortunately  the  churchman  saw  it  all.  His 
blood  rushed  to  his  brain.  As  the  buckboard  was 
sweeping  past  him  he  caught  the  iron  rail  and 
leapt.  In  an  instant  he  was  on  his  feet  and  had 
closed  with  Mason's  assailant.  He,  too,  went  for 
the  throat,  with  all  the  ferocity  of  a  bulldog.  The 
mantle  of  the  church  was  cast  to  the  winds.  He 
was  panting  with  the  lust  for  fight,  and  he  crushed 
his  fingers  deep  into  the  man's  windpipe.  They 
dropped  together  on  the  sacks. 

Mason,  released,  dared  not  turn.  He  plied  his 
whip  furiously.  He  had  the  legs  of  his  pursuers 
and  he  meant  to  add  to  his  distance.  He  heard 
the  struggle  going  on  behind  him.  He  heard 
the  gasp  of  a  choking  man.  And,  listening,  he 
reveled  in  it  as  men  of  his  stamp  will  revel  in  such 
things. 

"  Choke  him,  parson  !  Choke  the  swine  !  "  he 
hurled  viciously  over  his  shoulder. 

He  got  no  answer.  The  struggle  went  on  in 
silence,  and  presently  Mason  began  to  fear  for  the 
result.  He  slackened  his  horses  down  and  glanced 
back.  Tom  Chepstow's  working  features  looked  up 
into  his. 

"  I've  got  him,"  he  said :  then  of  a  sudden  he 


286  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

looked  anxiously  down  at  the  man  he  was  kneel- 
ing on.  "He's — he's  unconscious.  I  hope 

You'd  better  pull  up." 

"  I  wish  you'd  choke  the  life  out  of  him,"  cried 
Mason  furiously. 

"  I  did  my  best,  I'm  afraid,"  the  parson  replied 
ruefully.  "  You'd  better  pull  up." 

But  the  lumberman  kept  on. 

"  Half  a  minute.  Get  these  matches,  and  have  a 
look  at  him.  I'll  slow  down." 

The  churchman  seized  the  matches,  and,  in  his 
anxiety  at  what  he  had  done,  struck  several  before 
he  got  one  burning  long  enough  to  see  the  uncon- 
scious man's  face.  Finally  he  succeeded,  and  an 
ejaculation  of  surprise  broke  from  him. 

"  Heavens  !     It's  Jim  Truscott ! "  he  cried. 

He  pressed  his  hand  over  the  man's  heart. 

"  Thank  God  !  he's  alive,"  he  added. 

Mason  drew  up  sharply.  A  sudden  change  had 
come  over  his  whole  manner.  He  sprang  to  the 
ground. 

"  Here,  help  me  secure  him,"  he  said  almost 
fiercely.  "  I'll  take  him  down  to  Dave." 

They  lashed  their  prisoner  by  his  hands  and  feet. 
Then  Mason  seized  the  churchman  excitedly  by  the 
arm. 

"  Get  back,  parson  ! "  he  cried.  "  Get  back  to 
the  dugout  quick  as  hell'll  let  you  !  There's  Miss 
Betty !  " 

"  God !  I'd  forgotten !  And  there's  those — 
strikers ! " 


CHAPTER  XXII 

TERROR  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS 

FEAR  drove  Chepstow  headlong  for  the  dugout. 
Mason's  words,  his  tone  and  manner,  had  served  to 
excite  him  to  a  pitch  closely  bordering  upon  abso- 
lute terror.  What  of  Betty  ?  Over  and  over  again 
he  asked  himself  what  might  not  happen  to  her, 
left  alone  at  the  mercy  of  these  savages  ?  What  if, 
baulked  of  their  prey,  they  turned  to  loot  and 
wreck  his  hut?  It  was  more  than  possible.  To 
his  fear-stricken  imagination  it  was  inevitable.  His 
gorge  rose  and  he  sickened  at  the  thought,  and  he 
raced  through  the  fog  to  the  girl's  help. 

The  self-torture  he  suffered  in  those  weary  min- 
utes was  exquisite.  He  railed  at  his  own  criminal 
folly  in  letting  her  leave  his  side.  He  reviled 
Mason  and  his  wild  schemes.  Dave  and  his  inter- 
ests were  banished  from  his  mind.  The  well-being 
of  Malkern,  of  the  mills,  of  anybody  in  the  world 
but  the  helpless  girl,  mattered  not  at  all  to  him.  It 
was  Betty — of  Betty  alone  he  thought. 

An  innocent  girl  in  the  hands  of  such  ruthless 
brutes  as  these  strikers — what  could  she  do  ?  It 
was  a  maddening  thought.  He  prayed  to  Heaven 
as  he  went,  that  he  might  be  in  time,  and  his 
prayers  rang  with  a  fervor  such  as  they  never 


288  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

possessed  in  his  vocation  as  a  churchman.  And 
this  mood  alternated  with  another,  which  was  its 
direct  antithesis.  The  vicious  thoughts  of  a  man 
roused  to  battle  ran  through  his  brain  in  a  fiery 
torrent.  His  whole  outlook  upon  life  underwent  a 
change.  All  the  kindly  impulses  of  his  heart,  all 
the  teachings  of  his  church,  all  his  best  Christian 
beliefs,  fell  from  him,  and  left  him  the  naked,  pas- 
sionate man.  Churchman,  good  Christian  he 
undoubtedly  was,  but,  before  all  things,  he  was  a 
man ;  and  just  now  a  man  in  fighting  mood. 

It  probably  took  him  less  than  twenty  minutes 
to  make  the  return  journey,  yet  it  seemed  to  him 
hours — he  certainly  endured  hours  of  mental  an- 
guish. But  at  last  it  ended  with  almost  ludicrous 
abruptness.  In  the  obscurity  of  the  fog  he  was 
brought  to  a  halt  by  impact  with  the  walls  of  the 
dugout. 

He  recovered  himself  and  stood  for  a  moment 
listening.  There  was  no  sound  of  any  one  within, 
nor  was  there  any  sign  of  the  strikers.  He  moved 
round  to  the  door ;  a  beam  of  light  shone  beneath 
it.  He  breathed  more  freely.  Then,  to  his  dismay, 
at  his  first  touch,  the  door  swung  open.  His  fears 
leapt  again,  he  dreaded  what  that  open  door  might 
disclose.  Then,  in  the  midst  of  his  fears,  a  cry  of 
relief  and  joy  broke  from  him. 

"  Thank  God,  you're  safe  !  "  he  exclaimed,  as  he 
rushed  into  the  room. 

Betty  looked  up  from  the  work  in  her  lap.  She 
was  seated  beside  the  box-stove  sewing.  Her  calm- 


TERROR  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS      289 

ness  was  in  flat  contrast  to  her  uncle's  excited  state. 
She  smiled  gently,  and  her  soft  eyes  had  in  them  a 
questioning  humor  that  had  a  steadying  effect  upon 
the  man. 

"  Safe  ?  Why,  dear,  of  course  I'm  safe,"  she 
said.  "  But — I  was  a  little  anxious  about  you. 
You  were  so  long  getting  back.  Did  Bob  Mason 
get  safely  away  ?  " 

Chepstow  laughed. 

"  Yes,  oh  yes.     He  got  away  safely." 

"  He  ?  " 

The  work  lay  in  Betty's  lap,  and  her  fingers  had 
become  idle. 

"  Yes.     But  we  captured  one  of  the  strikers." 

The  parson  suddenly  turned  to  the  door  and 
barred  it  securely.  Then,  as  he  went  on,  he  crossed 
to  the  windows,  and  began  to  barricade  them. 

"  Yes,  we  had  a  busy  time.  They  were  hard  on 
his  heels  when  he  pulled  up  for  me.  We  nailed  the 
foremost.  He  jumped  on  the  buckboard  and  al- 
most strangled  Mason.  I  jumped  on  it  too,  and — 
and  almost  strangled  him." 

He  laughed  harshly.  His  blood  was  still  up. 
Betty  bent  over  her  work  and  her  expressive  face 
was  hidden. 

"  Who  was  he  ?  I  mean  your  prisoner.  Did  you 
recognize  him,  or  was  he  a  new  hand  ?  " 

Chepstow's  laugh  abruptly  died  out.  He  had 
suddenly  remembered  who  his  prisoner  was  ;  and 
he  tried  to  ignore  the  question. 

"  Oh,  yes,  we  recognized  him.     But,"  he  went  on 


290  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

hurriedly,  "  we  must  get  some  supper.  I  think  we 
are  in  for  a  busy  time." 

But  Betty  was  not  so  easily  put  off.  Besides,  her 
curiosity  was  roused  by  her  uncle's  evident  desire  to 
avoid  the  subject. 

"  Who  was  he  ?  "  she  demanded  again. 

There  was  no  escape,  and  the  man  knew  it. 
Betty  could  be  very  persistent. 

"  Eh  ?  Oh,  I'm  afraid  it  was  Jim — Jim  Truscott," 
he  said  reluctantly. 

Betty  rose  from  her  chair  without  a  word.  She 
stirred  the  fire  in  the  cook-stove,  and  began  to  pre- 
pare a  supper  of  bacon  and  potatoes  and  tea,  while 
her  uncle  went  on  with  his  task  of  securing  the  win- 
dows. It  was  the  latter  who  finally  broke  the  silence. 

"  Has  any  one — has  anybody  been  here  ? "  he 
asked  awkwardly. 

Betty  did  not  look  up  from  her  work. 

"  Two  men  paid  me  a  visit,"  she  said  easily. 
"  One  asked  for  you.  He  seemed  angry.  I — I 
told  him  you  had  gone  over  to  the  sick  camp— that 
you  were  coming  back  to  supper.  He  laughed — 
fiercely.  He  said  if  you  didn't  come  back  I'd  find 
myself  up  against  it.  Then  he  hurried  off— and  I 
was  glad." 

"  And  the  other  ?  " 

Chepstow's  work  was  finished.  He  had  crossed 
over  and  was  standing  beside  the  cook-stove.  His 
question  came  with  an  undercurrent  of  fierceness 
that  Betty  was  unused  to,  but  she  smiled  up  into 
ft  is  face. 


TERROR  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS      291 

"  The  other  ?  I  think  he  had  been  drinking. 
He  was  one  of  those  two  I  met  in  the  woods.  He 
asked  me  why  I  hadn't  taken  his  warning.  I  told 
him  I  was  considering  it.  He  leered  at  me  and 
said  it  was  too  late,  and  assured  me  I  must  take  the 
consequences.  Then  he — tried  to  kiss  me.  It  was 
rather  funny." 

"  Funny  ?     Great  Heavens  !     And  you " 

Betty's  smile  broadened  as  she  pointed  to  a  heavy 
revolver  lying  in  the  chair  she  had  just  vacated. 

"  I  didn't  have  any  trouble.  I  told  him  there 
were  five  barrels  in  that,  all  loaded,  and  each 
fvarrel  said  he'd  better  get  out." 

"  Did — did  he  go  ?  " 

Chepstow  could  scarcely  control  his  fury.  But 
Betty  answered  him  in  a  quiet  determined  manner. 

"  Not  until  I  had  emptied  one  of  them,"  she  said. 
Then  with  a  rueful  smile  she  added,  "  But  it  went 
very  wide  of  its  mark." 

Her  uncle  tried  to  laugh,  but  the  result  was  little 
better  than  a  furious  snort. 

"  Why  did  you  leave  the  door  open  ? "  he  in- 
quired a  moment  later. 

"  Well,  you  were  out.  You  might  have  returned 

in — in  a  hurry  and But  sit  down,  uncle  dear, 

food's  ready." 

The  man  sat  down  and  Betty  stood  by  to  supply 
him  with  all  he  needed.  Then  he  noticed  she  had 
only  prepared  food  for  one. 

"Why,  child,  what  about  you?"  he  demanded 
kindly. 


292          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

"  I've  had  some  biscuits  and  tea,  before  you 
came  in.  I'm  not  hungry.  Now  don't  bother 
about  it,  dear.  Yes,  I  am  quite  well."  She  shook 
her  head  and  smiled  at  him  as  he  attempted  to  in- 
terrupt her,  but  the  smile  was  a  mere  cloak  to  her 
real  feelings.  She  had  eaten  before  he  came  in,  as 
she  said.  But  if  she  hadn't  she  could  have  eaten 
nothing  now.  Her  mind  was  swept  with  a  hot  tide 
of  anxious  thought.  She  had  a  thousand  and  one 
questions  unanswered,  and  she  knew  it  would  be  use- 
less putting  any  one  of  them  to  her  kindly,  impetu- 
ous uncle.  He  was  to  her  the  gentlest  of  guardians, 
but  quite  impossible  as  a  confidant  for  her  woman's 
fears,  her  woman's  passionate  desire  to  help  the 
man  she  loved.  He  was  staunch  and  brave,  and  in 
what  might  lay  before  them  she  could  have  no  bet- 
ter companion,  no  better  champion,  but  where  the 
subtleties  of  her  woman's  feelings  were  concerned 
there  could  be  no  confidence  in  him. 

She  watched  him  eat  in  silence,  and,  presently, 
when  he  looked  up  at  her,  her  soft  brown  eyes  were 
lit  by  an  almost  maternal  regard  for  him.  He  had 
no  understanding  of  that  look,  and  Betty  knew  it, 
otherwise  it  would  not  have  been  there. 

"  I  can't  understand  it  all,"  he  said.  "  Jim  is  a 
worse — a  worse  rascal  than  I  thought.  I  believe 
he's  not  only  in  this  strike,  but  one  of  the  organ- 
izers. Why  ?  That's  what  I  can't  make  out.  Is 
it  mischief — wanton  mischief?  Is  it  jealousy  of 
Dave's  success  ?  It's  a  puzzle  I  can't  solve  anyhow. 
After  all  his  protestations  to  me  the  thing's  incon- 


TERROR  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS      293 

ceivable.  It's  enough  to  destroy  all  one's  belief  in 
human  nature." 

"  Or  strengthen  it." 

-Eh?" 

"  It  is  only  natural  for  people  to  err/'  Betty  said 
seriously.  "  And  having  erred  it  is  human  nature, 
whatever  our  motives,  however  good  our  intentions, 
to  find  that  the  mire  into  which  we  have  fallen  sucks 
hard.  It  is  more  often  than  not  the  floundering  to 
save  ourselves  that  drives  us  deeper  into  it.  Poor 
Jim.  He  needs  our  pity  and  help,  just  as  we  so 
often  need  help." 

Her  uncle  stared  into  the  grave  young  face.  His 
astonishment  kept  him  silent  for  a  moment.  He 
pushed  impatiently  away  from  the  table.  But  it 
was  not  until  Betty  had  moved  back  to  her  chair  at 
the  stove  that  he  found  words  to  express  himself. 
He  was  angry,  quite  angry  with  her.  It  was  not 
that  he  was  really  unchristian,  but  when  he  thought 
of  all  that  this  strike  meant,  he  felt  that  sympathy 
for  the  man  who  was  possibly  the  cause  of  it  was 
entirely  out  of  place. 

"  Truscott  needs  none  of  your  pity,  Betty,"  he 
said  sharply.  "  If  pity  be  needed  it  is  surely  for 
those  whom  one  man's  mischief  will  harm.  Do  you 
know  what  this  strike  means,  child?  Before  it 
reaches  the  outside  of  these  camps  it  will  turn  a 
tide  of  vice  loose  upon  the  men  themselves.  They 
will  drink,  gamble.  They  will  quarrel  and  fight. 
And  when  such  men  fight  it  more  often  than  not 
results  in  some  terrible  tragedy.  Then,  like  some 


294  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

malignant  cuttlefish,  this  strike  will  grope  its  crush- 
ing feelers  out  from  here,  its  lair,  seeking  prey  on 
which  to  fix  its  sucking  tentacles.  They  will  reach 
Malkern,  and  work  will  be  paralyzed.  That  means 
ruin  to  more  than  half  the  villagers  who  depend 
upon  their  weekly  wage.  It  goes  further  than  that. 
The  mills  will  shut  down.  And  if  the  mills  shut, 
good-bye  to  all  trade  in  Malkern.  It  means  ruin 
for  everybody.  It  means  the  wrecking  of  all 
Dave's  hopes — hopes  which  have  for  their  object 
the  welfare  of  the  people  of  our  valley.  It  is  a 
piece  of  rascality  that  nothing  can  justify.  Jim 
Truscott  does  not  need  our  pity.  It  is  the  peni- 
tentiary he  needs.  Betty,  I'm — I'm " 

But  Betty  looked  up  with  passionate,  glowing 
eyes  from  the  work  she  had  resumed. 

"  Do  you  think  I  don't  know  what  it  means,  un- 
cle ?  "  she  demanded,  with  a  depth  of  feeling  that 
silenced  him  instantly.  "  Do  you  think  because  I 
pity  poor  Jim  that  I  do  not  understand  the  enor- 
mity of  his  wickedness  in  this  matter?  Have  I 
spent  the  best  part  of  my  life  in  our  valley  carrying 
on  the  work  that  has  fallen  to  my  share — work  that 
has  been  my  joy  and  happiness  to  do — without  un- 
derstanding the  cruelty  which  this  strike  means  to 
our  people,  those  who  are  powerless  to  help  them- 
selves against  it?  Do  you  think  I  don't  under- 
stand what  it  means  to  Dave  ?  Oh,  uncle,  if  you 
but  knew,"  she  went  on  reproachfully.  "  I  know  it 
means  practically  the  end  of  all  things  for  Dave  if 
his  contract  fails.  I  know  that  he  is  all  out  for  the 


TERROR  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS       295 

result.  That  his  resources  are  even  now  taxed  to 
their  uttermost  limit,  and  that  only  the  smooth  run- 
ning of  the  work  can  save  him  from  a  disaster  that 
will  involve  us  all.  If  I  had  a  man's  strength  there 
is  nothing  I  would  not  do  to  serve  him.  If  my 
two  hands,  if  my  brain  could  assist  him  in  the 
smallest  degree,  he  would  not  need  to  ask  for  them. 
They  are  his — his  ! "  she  cried,  with  a  passion  that 
thrilled  the  listening  man.  "  You  are  angry  with 
me  because  I  feel  sorry  for  an  erring  man.  I  am 
sorry  for  him.  Yet  should  evil  come  to  our  valley 
— to  Dave — through  his  work,  no  wildcat  would 
show  him  less  mercy  than  I.  Oh,  why  am  I  not  a 
man  with  two  strong  hands  ? "  she  cried  despair, 
ingly.  "  Why  am  I  condemned  to  be  a  useless 
burden  to  those  I  love?  Oh,  Dave,  Dave,"  she 
cried  with  a  sudden  self-abandonment,  so  passion- 
ate, so  overwhelming  that  it  alarmed  her  uncle, 
"  why  can't  I  help  you  ?  Why  can't  I  stand  beside 
you  and  share  in  your  battles  with  these  two 
hands  ?  "  She  held  out  her  arms,  in  a  gesture  of  ap- 
peal. Then  they  dropped  to  her  side.  In  a  mo- 
ment she  turned  almost  fiercely  upon  her  uncle, 
swept  on  by  a  tide  of  feeling  long  pent  up  behind 
the  barrier  of  her  woman's  reserve,  but  now  no 
longer  possible  of  restraint.  "  I  love  him  !  I  love 
him !  I  know  !  You  are  ashamed  for  me !  I  can 
see  it  in  your  face !  You  think  me  unwomanly ! 
You  think  I  have  outraged  the  conventions  which 
hem  our  sex  in!  And  what  if  I  have?  I  don't 
care !  I  care  for  nothing  and  no  one  but  him  1 


296          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

He  is  the  world  to  me — the  whole,  wide  world.  I 
love  him  so  I  would  give  my  life  for  him.  Oh,  un- 
cle, I  love  him,  and  I  am  powerless  to  help  him." 

She  sank  into  her  chair,  and  buried  her  face  in 
her  hands.  Blame,  displeasure,  contempt,  nothing 
mattered.  The  woman  was  stirred,  let  loose ;  the 
calm  strength  which  was  so  great  a  part  of  her 
character,  had  been  swept  aside  by  her  passion, 
which  saw  only  the  hopelessness  with  which  this 
strike  confronted  the  man  she  loved. 

Chepstow  watched  her  for  some  moments.  He 
was  no  longer  alarmed.  His  heart  ached  for  her, 
and  he  wanted  to  comfort  her.  But  it  was  not  easy 
for  him.  At  last  he  moved  close  to  her  side,  and 
laid  a  hand  upon  her  bowed  head.  The  action  was 
full  of  a  tender,  even  reverential  sympathy.  And 
it  was  that,  more  than  his  words,  which  helped  to 
comfort  the  woman's  stricken  heart. 

"  You're  a  good  child,  Betty,"  he  said  awkwardly. 
"  And — and  I'm  glad  you  love  him.  Dave  will 
win  out.  Don't  you  fear.  It  is  the  difficulties  he 
has  had  to  face  that  have  made  him  the  man  he  is. 

Remember  Mason  has  got  away,  and What's 

that?" 

Something  crashed  against  the  door  and  dropped 
to  the  ground  outside.  Though  the  exclamation 
had  broken  from  the  man  he  needed  no  answer.  It 
was  a  stone.  A  stone  hurled  with  vicious  force. 

Betty  sat  up.  Her  face  had  suddenly  returned  to 
its  usual  calm.  She  looked  up  into  her  uncle's 
eyes,  and  saw  that  the  light  of  battle  had  been  re- 


TERROR  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS      297 

kindled  there.  Her  own  eyes  brightened.  She, 
too,  realized  that  battle  was  imminent.  They  were 
two  against  hundreds.  Her  spirit  warmed.  Her 
recent  hopelessness  passed  and  she  sprang  to  her 
feet. 

"  The  cowards ! "  she  cried. 

The  man  only  laughed. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE    RED  TIDE  OF  ANARCHY 

BETTY  and  her  uncle  spent  the  next  few  hours  in 
preparing  for  eventualities.  They  explored  the 
storeroom  and  armory,  and  in  the  latter  they 
found  ample  provision  for  a  stout  defense.  There 
were  firearms  in  plenty,  and  such  a  supply  of  am- 
munition as  should  be  sufficient  to  withstand  a 
siege.  The  store  of  dynamite  gave  them  some 
anxiety.  It  was  dangerous  where  it  was,  in  case  of 
open  warfare,  but  it  would  be  still  more  dangerous 
in  the  hands  of  the  strikers.  Eventually  they  con- 
cealed it  well  under  a  pile  of  other  stores  in  the 
hopes,  in  case  of  accident,  it  might  remain  undis- 
covered. 

During  their  preparations  several  more  stones 
crashed  against  the  walls  and  the  door  of  the  build- 
ing. They  were  hurled  at  longish  intervals,  and 
seemed  to  be  the  work  of  one  person.  Then, 
finally  no  more  were  thrown,  and  futile  as  the  at- 
tack had  been,  its  cessation  brought  a  certain  relief 
and  ease  of  mind.  To  the  man  it  suggested  the 
work  of  some  drunken  lumber-jack — perhaps  the 
man  who  had  been  so  forcibly  rebuffed  by  Betty 
earlier  in  the  evening. 

It  was  one  o'clock  when  Chepstow  took  a  final 
look  round  his  barricades.  Betty  was  sitting  at  the 


THE  RED  TIDE  OF  ANARCHY      299 

table  with  a  fine  array  of  firearms  spread  out  before 
her.  She  had  just  finished  loading  the  last  one 
when  her  uncle  came  to  her  side.  She  looked  up 
at  him  with  quiet  amusement  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  was  wondering,"  she  said,  with  just  a  suspi- 
cion of  satire  in  her  manner,  "  whether  we  are  in  a 
state  of  siege,  or — panic  ?  " 

But  her  uncle's  sense  of  humor  was  lacking  at 
the  moment.  He  saw  only  the  gravity  of  his  re- 
sponsibility. 

"  You'd  best  get  to  bed,"  he  said  a  little  severely. 
"  I  shall  sit  up.  You  must  get  all  the  rest  you  can. 
We  do  not  know  what  may  be  in  store  for  us." 

Betty  promptly  fell  in  with  his  mood. 

"  But  the  sick  ?"  she  said.  "  We  must  visit  them 
to-morrow.  We  cannot  let  them  suffer." 

"  No.  We  must  wait  and  see  what  to-morrow 
brings  forth.  In  the  meantime " 

He  broke  off,  listening.  Betty  too  had  suddenly 
turned  her  eyes  upon  the  barred  door.  There  was 
a  long  pause,  during  which  the  murmur  of  many 
voices  reached  them,  and  the  faint  but  distinct 
sound  of  tramping  feet.  The  man's  eyes  grew  anx- 
ious, his  lean  face  was  set  and  hard.  It  was  easy 
enough  to  read  his  thoughts.  He  was  weighing 
the  possibilities  of  collision  with  these  strikers, 
and  calculating  the  chances  in  his  favor.  Betty 
seemed  less  disturbed.  Her  eyes  were  steady  and 
interested  rather  than  alarmed. 

"  There's  a  crowd  of  them,"  said  her  uncle  in  a 
hushed  voice. 


300  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

The  girl  listened  for  something  which  perhaps 
her  uncle  had  forgotten.  Sober,  she  did  not  ex- 
pect much  trouble  from  these  people.  If  they  had 
been  drinking  it  would  be  different. 

The  voices  grew  louder.  The  shuffling,  clumping 
footsteps  grew  louder.  They  drew  near.  They 
were  within  a  few  yards  of  the  building.  Finally 
they  stopped  just  outside  the  door.  Instantly  there 
was  a  loud  hammering  upon  it,  and  a  harsh  de- 
mand for  admittance. 

Neither  stirred. 

"  Open  the  door !  "  roared  the  voice,  and  the  cry 
was  taken  up  by  others  until  it  grew  into  a  perfect 
babel  of  shouting  and  cursing. 

Betty  moved  to  her  uncle's  side  and  laid  a  hand 
upon  his  arm.  She  looked  up  into  his  face  and 
saw  the  storm-clouds  of  his  anger  gathering  there. 

"  We  shall  have  to  open  it,  uncle,"  she  said. 
"  That's— that's  Tim  Canfield's  voice." 

He  looked  down  into  her  eager  young  face.  He 
saw  no  fear  there.  He  feared,  but  not  for  himself : 
it  was  of  her  he  was  thinking.  He  wanted  to  open 
the  door.  He  wanted  to  vent  his  anger  in  scathing 
defiance,  but  he  was  thinking  of  the  girl  in  his 
charge.  He  was  her  sole  protection.  He  knew, 
only  too  well,  what  "  strike  "  meant  to  these  men. 
It  meant  the  turning  of  their  savage  passions  loose 
upon  brains  all  too  untutored  to  afford  them  a  sem- 
blance of  control.  Then  there  was  the  drink,  and 
drink  meant  — 

The  clamor   at  the  door  was  becoming  terrific. 


THE  RED  TIDE  OF  ANARCHY      301 

He  stirred,  and,  walking  swiftly  across  the  room, 
put  his  mouth  to  the  jamb. 

"  What  do  you  want  ? "  he  shouted  angrily. 
"  What  right  have  you  to  come  here  disturbing  us 
at  such  an  hour  ?  " 

Instantly  the  noise  dropped.  Then  he  heard 
Tim's  voice  repeating  his  words  to  the  crowd,  and 
they  were  greeted  with  a  laugh  that  had  in  it  a 
note  of  rebellion. 

The  laugh  died  out  as  the  spokesman  turned 
again  to  the  door. 

"  Open  this  gorl-durned  door,  or  we'll  bust  it 
in  ! "  he  shouted.  And  a  chorus  of  "  Break  it  in ! " 
was  taken  up  by  the  crowd. 

The  parson's  anger  leapt.  His  keen  nerves 
were  on  edge  in  a  moment.  Even  Betty's  gentle 
eyes  kindled.  He  turned  to  her,  his  eyes  blazing. 

"  Hand  me  a  couple  of  guns ! "  he  cried,  in  a 
voice  that  reached  the  men  outside.  "  Get  hold  of 
a  couple  yourself !  If  there's  to  be  trouble  we'll 
take  a  hand  ! "  Then  he  turned  to  the  door,  and  his 
voice  was  thrilling  with  "  fight."  "  I'll  open  the  door 
to  no  one  till  I  know  what  you  want ! "  he  shouted 
furiously.  "  Beat  the  door  in  !  I  warn  you  those 
who  step  inside  will  get  it  good  and  plenty !  Beat 
away ! " 

His  words  had  instant  effect.  For  several  sec- 
onds there  was  not  a  sound  on  the  other  side  of  the 
door.  Then  some  one  muttered  something,  and  in- 
stantly the  crowd  took  up  a  fierce  cry,  urging  their 
leaders  on. 


302          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

But  the  men  in  front  were  not  to  be  rushed  into  a 
reckless  assault,  and  a  fierce  altercation  ensued. 
Finally  silence  was  restored,  and  Tim  Canfield  spoke 
again,  but  there  was  a  conciliatory  note  in  his  voice 
this  time. 

"  You  ken  open  it,  passon,"  he  said.  "  We're 
talkin'  fair.  We  ain't  nuthin'  up  agin  you.  We're 
astin"  you  to  help  us  out  some.  Ef  you  open  that 
door,  me  an'  Mike  Duggan'll  step  in,  an'  no  one 
else.  We'll  tell  you  what's  doin'.  Ther'  don't  need 
be  no  shootin'  to  this  racket." 

The  churchman  considered.  The  position  was 
awkward.  His  anger  was  melting,  but  he  knew 
that,  for  the  moment,  he  had  the  whip  hand.  How- 
ever, he  also  knew  if  he  didn't  open  the  door,  ulti- 
mately force  would  certainly  be  used.  These  were 
not  the  men  to  be  scared  easily.  But  Betty  was  in 
his  thoughts,  and  finally  it  was  Betty  who  decided 
for  him. 

"  Open  it,"  she  whispered.  "  It's  our  best  course. 
I  don't  think  they  mean  any  harm — yet." 

The  man  reluctantly  obeyed,  but  only  after  some 
moments'  hesitation.  He  withdrew  the  bars,  and 
as  the  girl  moved  away  beyond  the  stove,  and  sat 
down  to  her  sewing,  he  stepped  aside,  covering  the 
doorway  with  his  two  revolvers. 

"  Only  two  of  you ! "  he  cried,  as  the  door 
swung  open. 

The  two  men  came  in  and,  turning  quickly, 
shut  the  rest  of  the  crowd  out  and  rebarred  the  door. 

Then  they  confronted  the  churchman's  two  guns. 


THE  RED  TIDE  OF  ANARCHY      303 

There  was  something  tremendously  compelling  in 
Chepstow's  attitude  and  the  light  of  battle  that 
shone  in  his  eyes.  He  meant  business,  and  they 
knew  it.  Their  respect  for  him  rose,  and  they 
watched  him  warily  until  presently  he  lowered  the 
guns  to  his  side. 

He  eyed  them  severely.  They  were  men  he 
knew,  men  who  were  real  lumber-jacks,  matured  in 
the  long  service  of  Dave's  mills,  men  who  should 
have  known  better.  They  were  powerfully  built 
and  grizzled,  with  faces  and  eyes  as  hard  as  their 
tremendous  muscles.  He  knew  the  type  well.  It 
was  the  type  he  had  always  admired,  and  a  type, 
once  they  were  on  the  wrong  path,  he  knew  could 
be  very,  very  dangerous. 

"  Well,  boys,"  he  demanded,  in  a  more  moderate 
tone,  yet  holding  them  with  the  severity  of  his  ex- 
pression. "  What's  all  this  bother  about  ?  What 
do  you  mean  by  this  intolerable — bulldozing  ?  " 

The  men  suddenly  discovered  Betty  at  the  far 
side  of  the  stove.  Her  attitude  was  one  of  preoc- 
cupation in  her  sewing.  It  was  pretense,  but  it 
looked  natural.  They  abruptly  pulled  off  their 
caps,  and  for  the  moment,  seemed  half  abashed. 
But  it  was  only  for  the  moment.  The  next,  Can- 
field  turned  on  the  churchman  coldly. 

"  You're  actin'  kind  o'  foolish,  passon,"  he  said. 
"  It  ain't  no  use  talkin'  gun-play  when  ther'  ain't  no 
need  whatever.  It's  like  to  make  things  ridic'lous 
awkward,  an'  set  the  boys  sore.  We  come  along 
here  peaceful  to  talk  you  fair " 


304  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

"  So  you  bring  an  army,"  broke  in  Chepstow,  im- 
patiently, "  after  holding  a  meeting  at  the  store,  and 
considering  the  advisability  of  making  prisoners  of 
my  niece  and  me." 

"  Who  said  ?  "  demanded  Tim  fiercely. 

"  I  did,"  retorted  Chepstow  militantly. 

The  promptness  of  his  retort  silenced  the  lum- 
berman. He  grinned,  and  leered  round  at  his  com- 
panion. 

"  Well  ? "  The  parson's  voice  was  getting 
sharper. 

"  Well,  it's  like  this,  passon.  Ther'  ain't  goin'  to 
be  no  prisoner-makin'  if  you'll  act  reas'nable. 
Ther'  ain't  nuthin'  up  to  you  nor  the  leddy  but 
wot's  good  an'  clean.  You've  see  to  our  boys 
who's  sick,  an'  just  done  right  by  us — we  can't  say 
the  same  fer  others.  We  just  want  you  to  come 
right  along  down  to  the  camp.  Ther's  a  feller  bin 
shot  by  that  all-fired  skunk  Mason,  an'  I  guess 
he's  jest  busy  bleedin'  plumb  to  death.  Will  you 
come  ?  " 

"Who  is  it?" 

The  shortness  of  Chepstow's  tone  was  uncom- 
promising. 

The  lumber-jack  stirred  uneasily.  He  glanced 
round  at  his  companion.  The  churchman  saw  the 
look  and  understood. 

"  Come  on,  Mike  Duggan,  out  with  it.  I'm  not 
going  to  be  played  with,"  he  said.  "  Your  mate 
doesn't  seem  easy  about  it.  I  suppose  it's  one  of 
the  ringleaders  of  your  strike,  and  you  want  me  to 


THE  RED  TIDE  OF  ANARCHY      305 

patch  him  up  so  he  can  go  on  with  his  dirty  work. 
Well?  I'm  waiting." 

Duggan's  eyes  flashed. 

"  Easy,  passon,"  he  said  sharply.  "  The  feller's 
name  is  Walford.  You  ain't  like  to  know  him  fer 
sure.  He's  kind  o'  runnin'  things  fer  us.  He's  hit 
in  the  shoulder  bad." 

"  Ah,  it's  that  fellow  who  was  speaking  at  your 
meeting.  So  he's  got  his  medicine.  Good.  Well, 
you  want  me  to  fix  him  up  ?  " 

The  lumber-jacks  nodde^. 

"  That's  it,"  said  Duggan  cheerfully. 

Chepstow  considered  for  a  moment.  Then  he 
glanced  over  at  Betty.  Their  eyes  met,  and  his  had 
a  smile  of  encouragement  in  them.  He  turned 
back  at  once  to  the  waiting  men. 

"  I'll  help  you,  but  on  one  or  two  conditions.  I 
demand  my  own  conditions  absolutely.  They're 
easy,  but  I  won't  change  them  or  moderate  them 
by  a  single  detail." 

"  Get  to  it,  passon,"  said  Canfield,  as  he  paused. 
"  Make  'em  easy,  an'  ther'  won't  be  no  kick 
comin'." 

"  You  must  bring  the  fellow  here,  and  leave  him 
with  us  until  he  is  sufficiently  recovered.  Any  of 
you  can  come  and  see  him,  if  he's  not  too  sick. 
Then  you  must  give  me  a  guarantee  that  my  niece 
and  I  can  visit  the  sick  camp  to  tend  the  boys  up 
there  without  any  sort  of  molestation.  You  under- 
stand ?  You  must  guarantee  this.  You  must 
guarantee  that  we  are  in  no  way  interfered  with, 


306  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

and  if  at  any  time  we  are  out  of  this  hut,  no  one 
will  enter  it  without  our  permission.  We  are  here 
for  peace.  We  are  here  to  help  your  sick  com- 
rades. Your  affairs  with  your  employers  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  us.  Is  it  a  deal  ?  " 

"  Why  sure,  passon,"  replied  Duggan.  And  Tim 
nodded  his  approval. 

"  It's  folks  like  you  makes  things  easy  fer  us," 
added  the  latter,  with  hearty  good-will.  "  Guess 
we'll  shake  on  it." 

He  held  out  his  hand,  and  Chepstow  promptly 
gripped  it.  He  also  shook  the  other  by  the  hand. 

"  Now,  boys,"  he  said  genially,  "  how  about  those 
others  outside?  How  will  you  guarantee  them?" 

"  We'll  fix  that  quick.  Say,  Mike,  just  open  that 
door."  Canfield  turned  again  to  Chepstow,  while 
Mike  obeyed  orders.  "  I'll  give  'em  a  few  words," 
he  went  on,  "  an'  we'll  send  right  off  for  Walford. 
He's  mighty  bad,  passon.  He's " 

The  door  was  open  by  this  time,  and  the  two 
men  hurried  out.  Chepstow  secured  it  behind 
them,  and  stood  listening  for  what  was  to  happen. 
He  heard  Canfield  haranguing  the  crowd,  and  his 
words  seemed  to  have  the  desired  effect,  for  pres- 
ently the  whole  lot  began  to  move  off,  and  in  two 
minutes  the  last  sound  of  voices  and  receding  foot- 
steps had  died  out.  Betty  drew  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  Uncle,"  she  said,  smiling  affectionately  across  at 
him  as  he  left  the  door  and  came  toward  the  stove, 
"  you  are  a  genius  of  diplomacy." 

The  man  laughed  self-consciously. 


THE  RED  TIDE  OF  ANARCHY      307 

"  Well,  we  have  gained  a  point,"  he  said  doubt- 
fully. 

Betty  let  her  eyes  fall  upon  her  sewing  again. 

"  Yes,  we  have  gained  a  point.  I  wonder  how 
long  that  point  will  hold  good,  when — when  the 
drink  begins  to  flow." 

11  That's  what  I'm  wondering." 

And  their  question  was  answered  in  less  than 
twenty-four  hours. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  wounded  strike-leader  was 
brought  to  the  hut.  He  was  in  a  semi-conscious 
state,  and  a  swift  examination  showed  him  to  be  in 
a  pretty  bad  way.  The  bullet  had  ploughed  its 
way  through  the  shoulder,  smashing  both  the  col- 
lar-bone and  the  shoulder-blade.  Then,  though  no 
vital  spot  had  been  touched,  the  loss  of  blood  had 
been  terrific.  He  had  been  left  lying  at  the  store 
ever  since  he  was  shot  by  Mason,  with  just  a  rough 
bandage  of  his  own  shirt,  which  had  been  quite 
powerless  to  stop  the  flow  of  blood. 

It  took  Chepstow  nearly  two  hours  to  dress  the 
wound  and  set  the  bones,  and  by  that  time  the 
man's  weakness  had  plunged  him  into  absolute  un- 
consciousness. Still,  this  was  due  solely  to  loss  of 
blood,  and  with  careful  nursing  there  was  no  real 
reason  why  he  should  not  make  a  satisfactory  re- 
covery. 

The  rest  of  the  night  was  spent  at  the  sick  man's 
bedside.  Betty  and  her  uncle  shared  the  vigil  in 
reliefs,  and,  weary  work  as  it  was,  they  never 


308  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

hesitated.  A  life  was  at  stake,  and  though  the 
man  was  the  cause  of  all  the  trouble,  or  instru- 
mental in  it,  they  were  yet  ready  to  spare  no  effort 
on  his  behalf.  With  the  parson  it  was  sheer  love 
of  his  duty  toward  all  men  that  gave  him  inspira- 
tion. With  Betty  there  may  have  been  a  less 
Christian  spirit  in  her  motives.  All  this  man's 
efforts  had  been  directed  against  the  man  she 
loved,  and  she  hated  him  for  it ;  but  a  life  was  at 
stake,  and  a  life,  to  her,  was  a  very  sacred  thing. 

The  next  day  was  spent  between  care  for  the 
sick  at  the  fever  camp  and  the  wounded  man  in  their 
own  quarters,  and  the  guarantee  of  the  strikers  was 
literally  carried  out.  There  were  one  or  two  visits 
to  their  sick  leader,  but  no  interference  or  molesta- 
tion occurred.  Then  at  sundown  came  the  first 
warning  of  storm. 

Betty  was  returning  to  the  dugout.  She  was 
tired  and  sick  at  heart  with  her  labors.  For  both 
it  had  been  a  strenuous  day,  but  it  had  found  her 
strength  out  a  good  deal  more  than  it  had  her 
uncle's.  Ahead  of  her  she  knew  there  yet  lay  a 
long  night  of  nursing  the  wounded  man. 

It  was  a  gorgeous  evening.  The  fog  had  quite 
passed  away.  A  splendid  sunset  lit  the  glittering 
peaks  towering  about  her  with  a  cloak  of  iridescent 
fire.  The  snow  caps  shone  with  a  ruddy  glow, 
while  the  ancient  glaciers  suggested  molten  streams 
pouring  from  the  heart  of  them  to  the  darkling 
wood-belts  below.  The  girl  paused  and  for  a  mo- 
ment the  wonder  of  the  scene  lifted  her  out  of  her 


THE  RED  TIDE  OF  ANARCHY      309 

weariness.  But  it  was  only  momentary.  The 
whole  picture  was  so  transient.  It  changed  and 
varied  with  kaleidoscopic  suddenness,  and  vanished 
altogether  in  less  than  five  minutes.  Again  the 
mountains  assumed  the  gray  cold  of  their  unlit 
beauties.  The  sun  had  gone,  and  day  merged 
into  night  with  almost  staggering  abruptness.  She 
turned  with  a  sigh  to  resume  her  journey. 

It  was  then  that  her  attention  was  drawn  else- 
where. In  the  direction  of  the  lumber  camp,  in  the 
very  heart  of  it,  it  seemed,  a  heavy  smoke  was  ris- 
ing and  drifting  westward  on  the  light  evening 
breeze.  It  was  not  the  haze  of  smoke  from  camp- 
fires  just  lit,  but  a  cloud  augmented  by  great  belches 
from  below.  And  in  the  growing  dusk  she  fancied 
there  was  even  a  ruddy  reflection  lighting  it.  She 
stared  with  wide-open,  wondering  eyes. 

Suddenly  a  great  shaft  of  flame  shot  up  into  its 
midst,  and,  as  it  lit  the  scene,  she  heard  the  shout- 
ing of  men  mingling  with  the  crash  of  falling 
timber.  She  stood  spellbound,  a  strange  terror 
gripping  her  heart.  It  was  fear  of  the  unknown. 
There  was  a  fire — burning  what  ?  She  turned  and 
ran  for  the  dugout. 

Bursting  into  the  hut,  she  poured  out  her  tidings 
to  her  uncle,  who  was  preparing  supper.  The  man 
listening  to  her  hasty  words  understood  the  terror 
that  beset  her.  Fire  in  those  forest  regions  might 
well  strike  terror  into  the  heart.  He  held  a  great 
check  upon  himself. 

"  Sit  down,  child,"  he  said  gently,  at  the  conclu- 


3io          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

sion  of  her  story.  "  Sit  down  and  have  some  food. 
Afterward,  while  you  see  to  Walford,  I'll  cut 
through  the  woods  and  see  what's  doing." 

He  accomplished  his  object.  Betty  calmed  at 
once,  and  obediently  sat  down  to  the  food  he  set  be- 
fore her.  She  even  forced  herself  to  eat,  and  pres- 
ently realized  she  was  hungry.  The  churchman 
said  nothing  until  they  had  finished  eating.  Then 
he  lit  his  pipe. 

"  It's  drink,  I  expect,"  he  said,  as  though  he  had 
been  striving  to  solve  the  matter  during  supper. 
"  Likely  they're  burning  the  camp.  We  know 
what  they  are." 

Betty  took  a  deep  breath. 

"  And  if  they're  doing  that  here,  what  about  the 
outlying  camps  ?  " 

She  knew  that  such  an  event  would  mean  abso- 
lute ruin  to  Dave,  and  again  her  terror  rose.  This 
time  it  was  for  Dave,  and  the  feeling  sickened  her. 

Her  uncle  put  on  his  hat.  He  had  no  answer  for 
her.  He  understood  what  was  in  her  mind. 

"  Don't  leave  this  place,  Betty,"  he  said  calmly. 
"  Redress  Walford's  wound  the  way  I  showed  you. 
Keep  this  door  barred,  and  don't  let  any  one  in. 
I'll  be  back  soon." 

He  was  gone.  And  the  manner  of  his  going 
suggested  anything  but  the  calmness  with  which 
he  spoke. 

Once  outside,  the  terror  he  had  refused  to  display 
in  Betty's  presence  lent  wings  to  his  feet.  Night 


THE  RED  TIDE  OF  ANARCHY      311 

had  closed  in  by  the  time  he  took  to  the  woods. 
Now  the  air  was  full  of  the  burning  reek,  and  he 
tried  to  calculate  the  possibilities.  He  snuffed  at 
the  air  to  test  the  smell,  fearful  lest  it  should  be  the 
forest  that  was  burning.  He  could  not  tell.  He 
was  too  inexperienced  in  woodcraft  to  judge  ac- 
curately. In  their  sober  senses  these  lumber-jacks 
dreaded  fire  as  much  as  a  sailor  dreads  it  at  sea, 
then  there  could  be  little  doubt  as  to  the  cause  of  it 
now.  The  inevitable  had  happened.  Drink  was 
flowing,  scorching  out  the  none  too  acute  senses  of 
these  savages.  Where  would  their  orgy  lead  them  ? 
Was  there  any  limit  that  could  hold  them  ?  He 
thought  not.  If  he  were  inexperienced  in  the 
woodsman's  craft,  he  knew  these  woodsmen,  and  he 
shuddered  at  the  pictures  his  thoughts  painted. 

As  he  drew  nearer  the  camp  the  smoke  got  into 
his  lungs.  The  fire  must  be  a  big  one.  A  sudden 
thought  came  to  him,  and  with  it  his  fears  receded. 
He  wondered  why  it  had  not  occurred  to  him  be- 
fore. Of  course.  His  eyes  brightened  almost  to  a 
smile.  If  what  he  suspected  had  happened,  per- 
haps it  was  the  hand  of  Providence  working  in 

Dave's  interest.  Working  in  Dave's,  and 

Perhaps  it  was  the  cleansing  fires  of  the  Almighty 
sent  to  wipe  out  the  evil  inspired  by  the  erring 
mind  of  man. 

He  reached  the  fringe  of  woods  which  sur- 
rounded the  clearing  of  the  camp,  and  in  another 
few  seconds  he  stood  in  the  open. 

"  Thank  God,"  he  exclaimed.     Then,  in  a  mo- 


312          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

meat,  the  horror  of  a  pitying  Christian  mind  shone 
in  his  eyes.  His  lips  were  tight  shut,  and  his 
hands  clenched  at  his  sides.  Every  muscle  strung 
tense  with  the  force  of  his  emotions. 

In  the  centre  of  the  clearing  the  sutler's  store  was 
a  blazing  pile.  But  it  was  literally  in  the  centre, 
with  such  a  distance  between  it  and  the  surround- 
ing woods  as  to  reduce  the  danger  of  setting  fire  to 
them  to  a  minimum.  It  was  this,  and  the  fact  that 
it  was  the  store  where  the  spirits  were  kept,  that 
had  inspired  his  heartfelt  exclamation.  But  his 
horror  was  for  that  which  he  saw  besides. 

The  running  figures  of  the  strikers  about  the  fire 
were  the  figures  of  men  mad  with  drink.  Their 
shoutings,  their  laughter,  their  antics  told  him  this. 
But  they  were  not  so  drunk  but  what  they  had 
sacked  the  store  before  setting  it  ablaze.  Ah,  he 
understood  now,  and  he  wondered  what  had  hap- 
pened to  the  Jew  trader. 

He  drew  nearer.  He  felt  safe  in  doing  so. 
These  demented  savages  were  so  fully  occupied 
that  they  were  scarcely  likely  to  observe  him. 
And  if  they  did,  he  doubted  if  he  were  running 
much  personal  risk.  They  had  no  particular  ani- 
mosity for  him. 

And  as  he  came  near,  the  sights  he  beheld  sick- 
ened him.  There  were  several  fights  in  progress- 
Not  individual  battles,  but  drunken  brawls  in 
groups ;  mauling,  savaging  masses  of  men  whose 
instinct,  when  roused,  it  is  to  hurt,  hurt  anyhow,  and 
if  possible  to  kill.  These  men  fought  as  beasts 


THE  RED  TIDE  OF  ANARCHY      313 

fight,  tearing  each  other  with  teeth  and  hands, 
gouging,  hacking,  clawing.  It  was  a  merciless  dis- 
play of  brute  savagery  inspired  by  a  bestial  in- 
stinct, stirred  to  fever  pitch  by  the  filthy  spirit 
served  in  a  lumber  camp. 

At  another  point,  well  away  from  the  burning 
building,  the  merchandise  was  piled,  tossed  to- 
gether in  the  reckless  fashion  only  to  be  expected 
in  men  so  inspired.  Around  this  were  the  more 
sober,  helping  themselves  greedily,  snatching  at 
clothing,  at  blankets,  at  the  tools  of  their  craft. 
Some  were  loaded  with  tin  boxes  of  fancy  biscuits 
and  canned  meats,  others  had  possessed  themselves 
of  the  cheap  jewelry  such  as  traders  love  to  dazzle 
the  eyes  of  their  simple  customers  with.  Each  took 
as  his  stomach  guided  him,  but  with  a  gluttony  for 
things  which  can  be  had  for  nothing  always  to  be 
found  in  people  of  unbridled  passions.  It  was  a 
sight  little  less  revolting  than  the  other,  for  it  spoke 
of  another  form  of  unchecked  savagery. 

Not  far  from  this,  shown  in  strong  relief  by  the 
lurid  fires,  was  gathered  a  shouting,  turbulent  crowd 
round  a  pile  of  barrels  and  cases.  Three  barrels 
were  standing  on  end,  apart  from  the  rest,  and  their 
heads  had  been  removed,  and  round  these  strug- 
gled  a  maddened  crew  with  tin  pannikins.  They 
were  dipping  the  fiery  spirit  out  of  the  casks,  and 
draining  each  draught  as  hurriedly  as  the  scorching 
stuff  could  pass  down  their  throats,  so  as  to  secure 
as  much  as  possible  before  it  was  all  gone.  The 
watching  man  shuddered.  Truly  a  more  terrible 


314          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

display  was  inconceivable.  The  men  were  not 
human  in  their  orgy.  They  were  wild  beasts. 
What,  he  asked  himself,  what  would  be  the  result 
when  the  liquor  had  saturated  the  brains  of  every 
one  of  them  ?  It  was  too  terrible  to  contem- 
plate. 

The  roar  of  the  blazing  building,  the  babel  of 
shouting,  the  darkly  lurid  light  shining  amidst  the 
shadows  of  surrounding  woods,  the  starlit  heavens 
above,  the  stillness  of  mountain  gloom  and  soli- 
tude ;  these  things  created  a  picture  so  awful  of 
contemplation  as  to  be  unforgettable.  Every  de- 
tail drove  into  the  watching  man's  heart  as  though 
graven  there  with  chisel  and  hammer.  It  was  a 
hellish  picture,  lit  with  hellish  light,  and  set  in  the 
midst  of  gloom  profound.  The  men  might  have 
been  demons  silhouetted  against  the  ruddy  fire; 
their  doings,  their  antics,  had  in  them  so  little  that 
was  human.  It  was  awful,  and  at  last,  in  despair, 
the  man  on  the  outskirts  of  the  clearing  turned  and 
fled.  Anything  rather  than  this  degrading  sight ; 
he  could  bear  it  no  longer.  He  sickened,  yet  his 
heart  yearned  for  them.  There  was  nothing  he 
could  do  to  help  them  or  check  them.  He  could 
only  pray  for  their  demented  souls,  and — see  to  the 
safeguarding  of  Betty. 

Betty  heard  her  uncle's  voice  calling,  and  flung 
down  the  bars  of  the  door.  She  looked  into  his 
ghastly  face  as  he  hurried  in.  She  asked  no  ques- 
tion, and  watched  him  as  with  nervous  hands  he 


THE  RED  TIDE  OF  ANARCHY      315 

closed  and  secured  the  door  behind  him.  Her  eyes 
followed  his  movements  as  he  crossed  to  the  stove 
and  flung  himself  into  a  chair.  She  saw  his  head 
droop  forward,  and  his  hands  cover  his  eyes  in 
a  gesture  of  despair.  Still  she  waited,  her  breath 
coming  more  quickly  as  the  moments  passed. 

She  moved  a  step  toward  him,  and  slowly  he 
raised  a  drawn  haggard  face,  and  his  horrified  eyes 
looked  into  hers. 

"  You  must  not  leave  this  hut  on  any  pretense, 
Betty,"  he  said  slowly.  Then  he  raised  his  eyes  to 
the  roof.  "  God  have  pity  on  them  !  They  are 
mad  !  Mad  with  drink,  and  ready  for  any  debauch- 
ery. I  could  kill  the  men,"  he  went  on,  shaking 
his  two  clenched  fists  in  the  air,  "  who  have  driven 
them " 

"  Hush,  uncle !  "  the  girl  broke  in,  laying  a  re- 
straining hand  upon  his  upraised  arms.  "  One  of 
them  lies  over  there,  and — and  he  is  wounded.  We 
must  do  what  we  can  to  help." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

IN   THE  DEAD   OF   NIGHT 

IT  was  sundown  in  the  Red  Sand  Valley.  The 
hush  of  evening  had  settled  upon  Malkern,  and  its 
calm  was  only  broken  by  the  droning  machinery  of 
the  mills.  The  sky  was  lit  by  that  chilly,  yellow 
afterglow  of  sunset  which,  eastward,  merges  into 
the  gray  and  purple  of  twilight.  Already  the  long- 
drawn  shadows  had  expanded  into  the  dusk  so 
rapidly  obscuring  the  remoter  distance.  Straight 
and  solemn  rose  spires  of  smoke  from  hidden  chim- 
neys, lolling  in  the  still  air,  as  though  loath  to  leave 
the  scented  atmosphere  of  the  valley  below.  It 
was  the  moment  of  delicious  calm  when  Nature  is 
preparing  to  seek  repose. 

Two  women  were  standing  at  the  door  of  Dave's 
house,  and  the  patch  of  garden  surrounding  them, 
so  simple,  so  plain,  was  a  perfect  setting  for  their 
elderly,  plainly  clad  figures.  Dave's  mother,  very 
old,  but  full  of  quiet  energy,  was  listening  to  the 
gentle  complaint  of  Mrs.  Chepstow.  She  was  lis- 
tening, but  her  gaze  was  fixed  on  the  distant  mills, 
an  attitude  which  had  practically  become  her 
settled  habit.  The  mill,  to  her,  was  the  end  of  the 
earth  ;  there  was  nothing  beyond. 

"  I  am  dreadfully  worried,"  Mrs.  Tom  was  saying, 


IN  THE  DEAD  OF  NIGHT  317 

the  anxious  wrinkles  of  her  forehead  lifting  her 
brows  perplexedly.  "  It's  more  than  six  weeks 
since  I  heard  from  Tom  and  Betty.  It's  not  like 
him,  he's  so  regular  with  letters  usually.  It  was 
madness  letting  Betty  go  up  there.  I  can't  think 
what  we  were  doing.  If  anything  has  happened  to 
them  I  shall  never  forgive  myself.  I  think  I  shall 
go  down  and  talk  to  Dave  about  it.  He  may 
know  something.  He's  sure  to  know  if  they  are 
well." 

The  other  slowly  withdrew  her  gaze  from  the 
mills.  It  was  as  though  the  effort  required  to  do  so 
were  a  great  one,  and  one  she  reluctantly  undertook. 
The  pivot  of  her  life  was  her  boy.  A  pivot  upon 
which  it  revolved  without  flagging  or  interruption. 
She  had  watched  him  grow  to  a  magnificent  man- 
hood, and  with  all  a  pure  woman's  love  and  wonder- 
ful instinct  she  had  watched  and  tended  him  as  she 
might  some  great  oak  tree  raised  from  the  frailest 
sapling.  Then,  when  his  struggles  came,  she  had 
shared  them  with  him  with  a  supreme  loyalty,  help- 
ing him  with  a  quiet,  strong  sympathy  which  found 
expression  in  little  touches  which  probably  even  he 
never  realized.  All  his  successes  and  disasters  had 
been  hers ;  all  his  joys,  all  his  sorrows.  And  now, 
in  her  old  age,  she  clung  to  this  love  with  the  pa- 
thetic tenacity  of  one  who  realizes  that  the  final 
parting  is  not  far  distant. 

Her  furrowed  face  lit  with  a  wonderful  smile. 

"  I  cannot  say  for  sure,"  she  said.  "  There  are 
times  when  Dave  will  not  admit  me  to  the  thoughts 


3i8          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

which  disturb  him.  At  such  times  I  know  that 
things  are  not  running  smoothly.  There  are  other 
times  when  he  talks  quite  freely  of  his  hopes,  his 
fears.  Then  I  know  that  all  is  well.  When  he 
complains  I  know  he  is  questioning  his  own  judg- 
ment, and  distrusts  himself.  And  when  he  laughs 
at  things  I  know  that  the  trouble  is  a  sore  one,  and 
I  prepare  for  disaster.  All  his  moods  have  mean- 
ing for  me.  Just  now  I  am  reading  from  his  silence, 
and  it  tells  me  that  much  is  wrong,  and  I  am  won- 
dering. But  I  do  not  think  it  concerns  Betty — and, 
consequently,  not  your  husband ;  if  anything  were 
wrong  with  her  I  think  I  should  know."  She 
smiled  with  all  the  wisdom  of  old  age. 

Mrs.  Tom's  anxiety  was  slightly  allayed,  but  her 
curiosity  was  proportionately  roused. 

"  Why  would  you  know — about  Betty  ?  "  she 
asked. 

The  older  woman's  eyes  were  again  turned  in  the 
direction  of  the  mill. 

«  Why — why  ?  "  She  smiled  and  turned  to  the 
churchman's  wife.  "  It  would  produce  afresh  mood 
in  my  boy,  one  I'm  not  familiar  with."  Then  she 
became  suddenly  grave.  "  I  think  I  should  dread 
that  mood  more  than  any  other.  You  see,  deep 
down  in  his  heart  there  are  passionate  depths  that 
no  one  has  yet  stirred.  Were  they  let  loose  I  fear 
to  think  how  they  might  drive  him.  Dave's  head 
only  rules  just  as  far  as  his  heart  chooses." 

"  But  Betty  ?  "  demanded  Mrs.  Tom.  «  How  is 
she " 


IN  THE  DEAD  OF  NIGHT  319 

"  Betty  ?  "  interrupted  the  other,  humorously  eye- 
ing the  eager  face.  "  The  one  great  passion  of 
Dave's  life  is  Betty.  I  know.  And  he  thinks  it  is 
hopeless.  I  am  betraying  no  confidence.  Dave 
hugs  his  secret  to  himself,  but  he  can't  hide  it  from 
me.  I'm  glad  he  loves  her.  You  don't  know  how 
glad.  You  see,  I  am  in  love  with  her  myself,  and — 
and  I  am  getting  very  old." 

"  And — does  Betty  know  ?  " 

Dave's  mother  shook  her  head  and  smiled. 

"  Betty  loves  him,  but  neither  understands  the 
other's  feelings.  But  that  is  nothing.  Love  be- 
longs to  Heaven,  and  Heaven  will  straighten  this 
out.  Listen  ! " 

The  old  woman's  eyes  turned  abruptly  in  the 
direction  of  the  mill.  There  was  a  curious,  anxious 
look  in  them,  and  a  perplexed  frown  drew  her 
brows  together.  One  hand  was  raised  to  hold  the 
other  woman's  attention.  It  was  as  though  some- 
thing vital  had  shocked  her,  as  though  some  sud- 
den spasm  of  physical  pain  had  seized  her.  Her 
face  slowly  grew  gray. 

Three  people  passing  along  the  trail  in  front  of 
the  house  had  also  stopped.  Their  eyes  were  also 
turned  in  the  direction  of  the  mill.  Further  along 
a  child  at  play  had  suddenly  paused  in  its  game  to 
turn  toward  the  mill.  There  were  others,  too,  all 
over  the  village  who  gave  up  their  pursuits  to  lis- 
ten. 

"  The  mills  have  stopped  work ! "  cried  Mrs. 
Tom  breathlessly. 


320          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

But  Dave's  mother  had  no  response  for  her.     She 
had  even  forgotten  the  other's  presence  at  her  side. 
The  drone  of  the  machinery  was  silent. 

Dawson  was  interviewing  his  employer  in  the 
latter's  office.  Both  men  looked  desperately 
worried.  Dave's  eyes  were  lit  with  a  brooding 
light.  It  was  as  though  a  cloud  of  storm  had 
settled  upon  his  rugged  features.  Dawson  had 
desperation  in  every  line  of  his  hard  face. 

"  Have  you  sent  up  the  river  ?  "  demanded  Dave, 
eyeing  his  head  man  as  though  he  alone  were 
responsible  for  the  trouble  which  was  upon  them. 

"  I've  sent,  boss.  We've  had  jams  on  the  river 
before,  an"  I  guessed  it  was  that.  I  didn't  worrit 
any  for  four-an'-twenty  hours.  It's  different  now. 
Ther'  ain't  bin  a  log  come  down  for  nigh  thirty-six 
hours." 

"  How  many  men  did  you  send  up  ?  " 

"  Six.  Two  teams,  an'  all  the  gear  needed  for 
breakin'  the  jam." 

"  Yes.     You're  sure  it  is  a  jam  ?  " 

"Ther'  ain't  nothin'  else,  boss.  Leastways,  I 
can't  see  nothin1  else." 

"  No.  And  the  boom  ?  You've  worked  out  the 
'  reserve  '  ?  " 

"  Clean  right  out.  Ther'  ain't  a  log  in  it  fit  to 
cut." 

Dave  sat  down  at  his  desk.  He  idled  clumsily 
for  some  moments  with  the  pen  in  his  fingers.  His 
eyes  were  staring  blankly  out  of  the  grimy  window. 


IN  THE  DEAD  OF  NIGHT  321 

The  din  of  the  saws  rose  and  fell,  and  the  music  for 
once  struck  bitterly  into  his  soul.  It  jarred  his 
nerves,  and  he  stirred  restlessly.  What  was  this 
new  trouble  that  had  come  upon  him  ?  No  logs  ! 
No  logs !  Why  ?  He  could  not  understand.  A 
jam  ?  Dawson  said  it  must  be  a  jam  on  the  river. 
He  was  a  practical  lumberman,  and  to  him  it  was 
the  only  explanation.  He  had  sent  up  men  to  find 
out  and  free  it.  But  why  should  there  be  a  jam  ? 
The  river  was  wide  and  swift,  and  the  logs  were 
never  sent  down  in  such  crowds  as  to  make  a  thing 
of  that  nature  possible  at  this  time  of  year.  Later, 
yes,  when  the  water  was  low  and  the  stream  slack, 
but  now,  after  the  recent  rains,  it  was  still  a  torrent. 
No  logs !  The  thought  was  always  his  nightmare, 
and  now — it  was  a  reality. 

"  It  must  be  a  jam,  I  s'pose,"  said  Dave  presently, 
but  his  tone  carried  no  conviction. 

"  What  else  can  it  be,  boss  ?  "  asked  the  foreman 
anxiously. 

His  employer's  manner,  his  tone  of  uncertainty, 
worried  Dawson.  He  had  never  seen  Dave  like 
this  before. 

"  That's  so." 

Then  a  look  of  eager  interest  came  into  his  eyes. 
He  pointed  at  the  window. 

"  Here's  Odd,"  he  said.     "  And  he's  in  a  hurry." 

Dawson  threw  open  the  door,  and  Simon  Odd 
lumbered  hurriedly  into  the  room.  He  seemed  to 
fill  up  the  place  with  his  vast  proportions.  His 
face  was  anxious  and  doubtful. 


322  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

•«  I've  had  to  shut  down  at  the  other  mill,  boss," 
he  explained  abruptly.  "  Ther*  ain't  no  logs. 
Ther've  been  none  for " 

'•  Thirty-six  hours,"  broke  in  Dave,  with  an  im- 
patient nod.  "  I  know." 

"  You  know,  boss  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

The  master  of  the  mills  turned  again  to  the 
window,  and  the  two  men  watched  him  in  silence. 
What  would  he  do?  This  man  to  whom  they 
looked  in  difficulty ;  this  man  who  had  never  yet 
failed  in  resource,  in  courage,  to  meet  and  over- 
come every  obstacle,  every  emergency  that  harassed 
a  lumberman's  life. 

Suddenly  he  turned  to  them  again.  In  his  eyes 
there  was  a  peculiar,  angry  light. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  demanded,  in  a  fierce  way  that  was 
utterly  foreign  to  him.  "  Well  ? "  he  reiterated, 
"  what  are  you  standing  there  for  ?  Get  you  out, 
both  of  you.  Shut  this  mill  down,  too  ! " 

Simon  Odd  moved  to  the  door,  but  Dawson  re- 
mained where  he  was.  It  almost  seemed  as  if  he 
had  not  understood.  The  mill  was  to  be  shut  down 
for  the  first  time  within  his  knowledge.  What  did 
it  mean  ?  In  all  his  years  of  association  with  Dave 
he  had  seen  such  wonders  of  lumbering  done  by 
him  that  he  looked  upon  him  as  almost  infallible. 
And  now — now  he  was  tacitly  acknowledging  de- 
feat without  making  a  single  effort.  The  realiza- 
tion, the  shock  of  it,  held  him  still.  He  made  no 
move  to  obey  the  roughly-spoken  command. 


IN  THE  DEAD  OF  NIGHT  323 

Suddenly  Dave  turned  on  him.  His  face  was 
flushed. 

"  Get  out !  "  he  roared.     "  Shut  down  the  mill !  " 

It  was  the  cry  of  a  man  driven  to  a  momentary 
frenzy.  For  the  time  despair — black,  terrible  de- 
spair— drove  the  lumberman.  He  felt  he  wanted  to 
hit  out  and  hurt  some  one. 

Dawson  silently  followed  Odd  to  the  door,  and 
in  five  minutes  the  saws  were  still. 

Dave  sat  on  at  his  desk  waiting.  The  moment 
the  shriek  of  the  machinery  ceased  he  sprang  to  his 
feet  and  began  pacing  the  floor  in  nervous,  hurried 
strides.  What  that  cessation  meant  to  him  only 
those  may  know  who  have  suddenly  seen  their 
life's  ambitions,  their  hopes,  crushed  out  at  one 
single  blow.  Let  the  saws  continue  their  song,  let 
the  droning  machinery  but  keep  its  dead  level  of 
tone,  and  failure  in  any  other  form,  however  dis- 
astrous, could  not  hurt  in  such  degree  as  the  sudden 
silencing  of  his  lumberman's  world. 

For  some  minutes  he  was  like  a  madman.  He 
could  not  think,  his  nerves  shivered  from  his  feet  to 
the  crown  of  his  great  ugly  head.  His  hands  were 
clenched  as  he  strode,  until  the  nails  of  his  fingers 
cut  the  flesh  of  the  palms  into  which  they  were 
crushed.  For  some  minutes  he  saw  nothing  but 
the  black  ruin  that  rose  like  a  wall  before  him  and 
shut  out  every  thought  from  his  mind.  The  cessa- 
tion of  machinery  was  like  a  pall  suddenly  burying 
his  whole  strength  and  manhood  beneath  its  para- 
lyzing weight. 


324          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

But  gradually  the  awful  tension  eased.  It  could 
not  hold  and  its  victim  remain  sane.  So  narrow 
was  his  focus  during  those  first  passionate  moments 
that  he  could  not  see  beyond  his  own  personal  loss. 
But  with  the  passing  minutes  his  view  widened, 
and  into  the  picture  grew  those  things  which  had 
always  been  the  inspiration  of  his  ambitions.  He 
flung  himself  heavily  into  his  chair,  and  his  eyes 
stared  through  the  dirty  window  at  the  silent  mill 
beyond.  And  for  an  hour  he  sat  thus,  thinking, 
thinking.  His  nervous  tension  had  passed,  his 
mind  became  clear,  and  though  the  nature  of  his 
thoughts  lashed  his  heart,  and  a  hundred  times 
drove  him  to  the  verge  of  that  first  passion  of 
despair  again,  there  was  an  impersonal  note  in 
them  which  allowed  the  use  of  his  usually  clear 
reasoning,  and  so  helped  him  to  rise  above  himself 
once  more. 

His  castles  had  been  set  a-tumbling,  and  he  saw 
in  their  fall  the  crushing  of  Malkern,  the  village 
which  was  almost  as  a  child  to  him.  And  with  the 
crushing  of  the  village  must  come  disaster  to  all  his 
friends.  For  one  weak  moment  he  felt  that  this 
responsibility  should  not  be  his — it  was  not  fair  to 
fix  it  on  him.  What  had  he  done  to  deserve  so 
hard  a  treatment  ?  He  thought  of  Tom  Chepstow, 
loyal,  kindly,  always  caring  and  thinking  for  those 
who  needed  his  help.  He  thought  of  the  traders 
of  the  village  who  hoped  and  prayed  for  his  suc- 
cess, that  meant  prosperity  for  themselves  and 
happiness  for  their  wives  and  children.  And  these 


IN  THE  DEAD  OF  NIGHT  32$ 

things  began  to  rekindle  the  fighting  flame  within 
him ;  the  flame  which  hitherto  had  always  burned 
so  fiercely.  He  could  not  let  them  go  under. 

Then  with  a  rush  a  picture  rose  before  his  mind, 
flooding  it,  shutting  out  all  those  others,  every 
thought  of  self  or  anybody  else.  It  was  Betty » 
with  her  gentle  face,  her  soft  brown  hair  and  tender 
smiling  eyes.  Their  steady  courageous  light  shone 
deep  down  into  his  heart,  and  seemed  to  smite  him 
for  his  weakness.  His  pulses  began  to  throb,  the 
weakened  tide  of  his  blood  was  sent  coursing 
through  his  veins  and  mounted,  mounted  steadily 
to  his  brain.  God !  He  must  not  go  under.  Even 
now  the  loyal  child  was  up  in  the  hills  fighting  his 
battles  for  him  with 

He  broke  off,  and  sprang  to  his  feet.  A  terrible 
fear  had  suddenly  leapt  at  his  heart  and  clutched 
him.  Betty  was  up  there  in  the  hills.  He  had  not 
heard  from  the  hill  camps  for  weeks.  And  now 
the  supply  of  logs  had  ceased.  What  had  hap- 
pened ?  What  was  happening  up  there  ? 

The  lethargy  of  despair  lifted  like  a  cloud.  He 
was  alert,  thrilling  with  all  the  virility  of  his  man- 
hood set  pulsing  through  his  veins.  Once  more 
he  was  the  man  Dawson  had  failed  to  recognize 
when  he  ordered  the  mills  to  be  closed  down. 
Once  more  he  was  the  man  whose  personal  force 
had  lifted  him  to  his  position  as  the  master  of 
Malkern  mills.  He  was  the  Dave  whom  all  the 
people  of  the  village  knew,  ready  to  fight  to  the 
last  ounce  of  his  power,  to  the  last  drop  of  his  blood. 


326          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

"  They  shan't  beat  us ! "  he  muttered,  as  he 
Strode  out  into  the  yard.  Nor  could  he  have  said 
of  whom  he  was  speaking,  if  anybody  at  all. 

It  was  nearly  midnight.  Again  Dawson  and 
Simon  Odd  were  in  their  employer's  office.  But 
this  time  a  very  different  note  prevailed.  Dawson's 
hard  face  was  full  of  keen  interest.  His  eyes  were 
eager.  He  was  listening  to  the  great  man  he  had 
always  known.  Simon  Odd,  burly  and  unassum- 
ing, was  waiting  his  turn  when  his  chief  had 
finished  with  his  principal  foreman. 

"  I've  thought  this  thing  out,  Dawson,"  Dave 
said  pleasantly,  in  a  tone  calculated  to  inspire  the 
other  with  confidence,  and  in  a  manner  suggesting 
that  the  affair  of  the  logs  had  not  seriously  alarmed 
him,  "  and  evolved  a  fresh  plan  of  action.  No 
doubt,  as  you  say,  the  thing's  simply  a  jam  on  the 
river.  If  this  is  so,  it  will  be  freed  in  a  short  time, 
and  we  can  go  ahead.  On  the  other  hand,  there 
may  be  some  other  reason  for  the  trouble.  I  can't 
think  of  any  explanation  myself,  but  that  is  neither 
here  nor  there.  Now  I  intend  going  up  the  river 
to-night.  Maybe  I  shall  go  on  to  the  camps.  I 
shall  be  entirely  guided  by  circumstances.  Anyway 
I  shall  likely  be  away  some  days.  Whatever  is 
wrong,  I  intend  to  see  it  straight.  In  the  mean- 
time you  will  stand  ready  to  begin  work  the 
moment  the  logs  come  down.  And  when  they 
come  down  I  intend  they  shall  come  down  at  a 
pace  that  shall  make  up  for  all  the  time  we  have 


IN  THE  DEAD  OF  NIGHT  327 

lost.  That's  all  I  have  for  you.  I  simply  say,  be 
ready.  Good-night." 

The  man  went  out  with  a  grin  of  satisfaction  on 
his  weather-beaten  face.  This  was  the  Dave  he 
knew,  and  he  was  glad. 

Simon  Odd  'received  his  orders.  He  too  must 
be  ready.  He  must  have  his  men  ready.  His  mill 
must  be  asked  to  do  more  than  ever  before  when 
the  time  came,  and  on  his  results  would  depend  a 
comfortable  bonus  the  size  of  which  quite  dazzled 
the  simple  giant. 

With  his  departure  Dave  began  his  own  prepara- 
tions. There  was  much  to  see  to  in  leaving  every- 
thing straight  for  his  foremen.  Dawson  was  more 
than  willing.  This  new  responsibility  appealed  to 
him  as  no  other  confidence  his  employer  could 
have  reposed  in  him.  They  spent  some  time  to- 
gether, and  finally  Dave  returned  to  his  office. 

During  the  evening  inquirers  from  the  village 
flooded  the  place.  But  no  official  information  on 
the  subject  of  the  cessation  of  work  was  forthcom- 
ing, nor  would  Dave  see  any  of  them.  They  were 
driven  to  be  content  with  gleanings  of  news  from 
the  mill  hands,  and  these,  with  the  simple  lumber- 
man's understanding  of  such  things,  explained  that 
there  was  a  jam  on  the  river  which  might  take  a 
day,  or  even  two  days,  to  free.  In  this  way  a  panic 
in  the  village  was  averted. 

Dave  required  provisions  from  home.  But  he 
could  not  spare  the  time  to  return  there  for  them. 
He  intended  to  set  out  on  his  journey  at  midnight. 


328  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

Besides,  he  had  no  wish  to  alarm  his  old  mother. 
And  somehow  he  was  afraid  she  would  drag  the 
whole  truth  of  his  fears  out  of  him.  So  he  sent  a 
note  by  one  of  the  men  setting  out  his  require- 
ments. 

His  answer  came  promptly.  The  man  returned 
with  the  kit  bag  only,  and  word  that  his  mother 
was  bringing  the  food  down  herself,  and  he  smiled 
at  the  futility  of  his  attempt  to  put  her  off. 

Ten  minutes  later  she  entered  his  office  with  her 
burden  of  provisions.  Her  face  was  calmly  smiling. 
There  was  no  trace  of  anxiety  in  it.  So  carefully 
was  the  latter  suppressed  that  the  effort  it  entailed 
became  apparent  to  the  man. 

"  You  shouldn't  have  bothered,  ma,"  he  protested. 
41 1  sent  the  man  up  specially  to  bring  those  things 
down." 

His  mother's  eyes  had  a  shrewd  look  in  them. 

"  I  know,"  she  said.  "  There's  a  ham  and  some 
bacon,  biscuit,  and  a  fresh  roast  of  beef  here.  Then 
I've  put  in  a  good  supply  of  groceries." 

"  Thanks,  dear,"  he  said  gently.  "  You  always 
take  care  of  my  inner  man.  But  I  wish  you  hadn't 
bothered  this  way." 

"  It's  no  sort  of  trouble,"  she  said,  raising  her 
eyes  to  his.  Then  she  let  them  drop  again. 
"  Food  don't  need  a  lumberman's  rough  handling." 

The  smile  on  Dave's  face  was  good  to  see.  He 
nodded. 

"  I'd  better  tell  you,"  he  said.  "  You  know, 
we've — stopped  ?  " 


IN  THE  DEAD  OF  NIGHT  329 

His  eyes  lingered  fondly  on  the  aged  figure. 
This  woman  was  very  precious  to  him. 

"  Yes,  I  know."  There  was  the  very  slightest 
flash  of  anxiety  in  the  old  eyes.  Then  it  was  gone. 

"  I'm  going  up  the  river  to  find  things  out." 

"  That's  what  I  understood.  Betty  is  up  there — 
too." 

The  quiet  assurance  of  his  mother's  remark 
brought  a  fresh  light  into  the  man's  eyes,  and  the 
blood  surged  to  his  cheeks. 

"  Yes,  ma.     That's  it— chiefly." 

"  I  thought  so.  And — I'm  glad.  You'll  bring 
her  back  with  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma." 

"  Good-bye,  boy."  His  simple  assurance  satis- 
fied her.  Her  faith  in  him  was  the  faith  of  a 
mother. 

The  man  bent  down  and  kissed  the  withered,  up- 
turned face. 

She  went  out,  and  Dave  turned  to  the  things  she 
had  brought  him.  She  had  thought  of  everything. 
And  the  food — he  smiled.  She  was  his  mother,, 
and  the  food  had  the  amplitude  such  as  is  char- 
acteristic of  a  mother  when  providing  for  a  be- 
loved son. 

He  must  visit  the  barn  to  see  about  his  horses. 
He  went  to  the  door.  Opening  it,  he  paused. 
Standing  there  he  became  aware  of  the  sound  of 
approaching  wheels.  The  absence  of  any  noise 
from  the  mills  had  made  the  night  intensely  silent, 
so  that  the  rattle  of  wheels  upon  the  hard  sand 


330  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

trail,  though  distant,  sounded  acutely  on  the  night 
air.  He  stood  listening,  with  one  great  hand 
grasping  the  door  casing.  Yes,  they  were  wheels. 
And  now,  too,  he  could  hear  the  sharp  pattering  of 
horses'  hoofs.  The  sound  was  uneven,  yet  regular, 
and  he  recognized  the  gait.  They  were  approach- 
ing at  a  gallop.  Nearer  they  came,  and  of  a  sud- 
den he  understood  they  were  practically  racing  for 
the  mill. 

He  left  the  doorway  and  moved  out  into  the 
yard.  He  thought  it  might  be  the  team  which 
Dawson  had  sent  out  returning,  and  perhaps  bring- 
ing good  news  of  the  jam  on  the  river.  He  walked 
toward  the  yard  gates  and  stood  listening  intently. 
The  night  was  dark,  but  clear  and  still,  and  as  he 
listened  he  fancied  in  the  rattle  of  the  vehicle  he 
recognized  the  peculiar  creak  of  a  buckboard. 

Nearer  and  nearer  it  came,  louder  and  louder  the 
clatter  of  hoofs  and  the  rattle  of  wheels.  The  gal- 
lop seemed  labored,  like  the  clumsy  gait  of  weary 
horses,  and  the  waiting  man  straining  could  plainly 
hear  a  voice  urging  them  on. 

Suddenly  he  thought  of  the  gates,  and  promptly 
opened  them.  He  hardly  knew  why  he  did  so.  It 
must  have  been  the  effect  of  the  pace  at  which  the 
horses  were  being  driven.  It  must  have  been  that 
the  speed  inspired  him  with  an  idea  of  emergency. 
Now  he  stood  out  in  the  road,  and  stooping, 
glanced  along  it  till  the  faint  light  of  the  horizon 
revealed  a  dark  object  on  the  trail.  He  drew  back 
and  slowly  returned  to  the  office. 


IN  THE  DEAD  OF  NIGHT  331 

The  man's  voice  urging  his  horses  on  required 
no  effort  to  hear  now.  It  was  hoarse  with  shout- 
ing, and  the  slashing  of  his  whip  told  the  wait- 
ing man  of  the  pace  at  which  he  had  traveled.  The 
vehicle  entered  the  yard  gates.  The  urging  voice 
became  silent,  the  weary  horses  clattered  up  to  the 
office  door  and  came  to  a  standstill. 

From  the  doorway  Dave  surveyed  the  outfit. 
He  did  not  recognize  it,  but  something  about  the 
man  climbing  out  of  the  vehicle  was  familiar. 

"  That  you,  Mason  ?  "  he  asked  sharply. 

«'  Yes — and  another.  Will  you  bear  a  hand  to 
get  him  out  ?  " 

Dave  went  to  his  assistance,  wondering.  Mason 
was  busy  undoing  some  ropes.  Dave's  wonder  in- 
creased. As  he  came  up  he  saw  that  the  ropes 
held  a  man  captive  in  the  carryall. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Jim  Truscott — whoever  he  may  be,"  responded 
Mason  with  a  laugh,  as  he  freed  the  last  rope. 

"  Ah  !  Well,  come  right  in — and  bring  him 
along  too." 

But  Mason  remembered  the  animals  that  had 
served  him  so  well. 

"  What  about  the  '  plugs '  ?  "  He  was  holding 
his  captive,  who  stood  silent  at  his  side. 

"  You  go  inside.     I'll  see  to  them." 

Dave  watched  Mason  conduct  his  prisoner  into 
the  office,  then  he  sprang  into  the  buckboard  and 
drove  it  across  to  the  barn. 


CHAPTER  XXV 
MASON'S  PRISONER 

IN  a  few  minutes  Dave  returned  from  the  barn. 
He  had  chosen  to  attend  to  the  horses  himself,  for 
his  own  reasons  preferring  not  to  rouse  the  man 
who  looked  after  his  horses. 

His  thoughts  were  busy  while  he  was  thus  oc- 
cupied. As  yet  he  had  no  idea  of  what  had  actu- 
ally occurred  in  the  camps,  but  Mason's  presence  at 
such  a  time,  the  identity  of  his  prisoner,  the  horses' 
condition  of  exhaustion;  these  things  warned  him 
of  the  gravity  of  the  situation,  and  something  of 
the  possibilities.  By  the  time  he  reentered  the  of- 
fice he  was  prepared  for  anything  his  "  camp-boss  " 
might  have  to  tell  him. 

He  noted  the  faces  of  the  two  men  carefully.  In 
Mason  he  saw  the  weariness  of  a  long  nervous 
strain.  His  broad  face  was  drawn,  his  eyes  were 
sunken  and  deeply  shadowed.  From  head  to  foot 
he  was  powdered  with  the  red  dust  of  the  trail. 
Dave  was  accustomed  to  being  well  served,  but  he 
felt  that  this  man  had  been  serving  him  to  some- 
thing very  near  the  limits  of  his  endurance.  Jim 
Truscott's  face  afforded  him  the  keenest  interest. 
It  was  healthier  looking  than  he  had  seen  it  since 
his  first  return  to  Malkern.  The  bloated  puffiness, 


MASON'S  PRISONER  333 

the  hall-mark  of  his  persistent  debauches,  had  al- 
most entirely  gone.  The  health  produced  by  open- 
air  and  spare  feeding  showed  in  the  tan  of  his  skin. 
His  eyes  were  clear,  and  though  he,  too,  looked 
worn  out,  there  was  less  of  exhaustion  about  him 
than  his  captor.  On  the  other  hand  there  was  none 
of  Mason's  fearless  honesty  in  his  expression. 
There  was  a  truculent  defiance  in  his  eyes,  a  furious 
scowl  in  the  drawn  brows.  There  was  a  nervous- 
ness in  the  loose,  weak  mouth.  His  wrists  were 
lashed  securely  together  by  a  rope  which  had  been 
applied  with  scant  mercy.  Dave's  eyes  took  all 
these  things  in,  and  he  pointed  to  the  latter  as  he 
addressed  himself  to  his  overseer. 

"  Better  loose  that,"  he  said,  in  that  even  voice 
which  gave  away  so  little  of  his  real  feelings. 
"  Guess  you're  both  pretty  near  done  in,"  he  went 
on,  as  Mason  unfastened  the  knots.  "  Got  down 
here  in  a  hurry  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  got  any  whiskey  ?  " 

Mason  had  finished  removing  the  prisoner's 
bonds  when  he  spoke. 

"  Brandy." 

"  That'll  do." 

The  overseer  laughed  as  men  will  laugh  when 
they  are  least  inclined  to.  Dave  poured  out  long 
drinks  and  handed  them  to  the  two  men.  Mason 
drank  his  down  at  a  gulp,  but  Truscott  pushed  his 
aside  without  a  word. 

"  There's  a  deal  to  tell,"  said  the  overseer,  as  he 
set  his  glass  down. 


334  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

"  There's  some  hours  to  daylight,"  Dave  replied. 
"  Go  right  ahead,  and  take  your  own  time." 

The  other  let  his  tired  eyes  rest  on  his  prisoner 
for  some  moments  and  remained  silent.  He  was 
considering  how  best  to  tell  his  story.  Suddenly 
he  looked  up. 

"  The  camp's  on  '  strike,'  "  he  said. 

"Ah!"  And  it  was  Dave's  eyes  that  fell  upon 
Jim  Truscott  now. 

There  was  a  world  of  significance  in  that  ejacula- 
tion and  the  expression  that  leapt  to  the  lumber- 
man's eyes.  It  was  a  desperate  blow  the  overseer 
had  dealt  him ;  but  it  was  a  blow  that  did  not  crush. 
It  carried  with  it  a  complete  explanation.  And 
that  explanation  was  of  something  he  understood 
and  had  power  to  deal  with. 

"And — this?"  Dave  nodded  in  Jim's  direction. 

"  Is  one  of  the  leaders." 

"  Ah ! " 

Again  came  Dave's  meaning  ejaculation.  Then 
he  settled  himself  in  his  chair  and  prepared  to  listen. 

"  Get  going,"  he  said ;  but  he  felt  that  he  required 
little  more  explanation. 

Mason  began  his  story  by  inquiries  about  his  own 
letters  to  his  employer,  and  learned  that  none  of 
them  had  been  received  during  the  last  few  weeks, 
and  he  gave  a  similar  reply  to  Dave's  inquiries  as 
to  the  fate  of  his  letters  to  the  camp.  Then  he 
went  on  to  the  particulars  of  the  strike  movement, 
from  the  first  appearance  of  unrest  to  the  final  mo- 
ment when  it  became  an  accomplished  fact.  He 


MASON'S  PRISONER  335 

told  him  how  the  chance  "  hands  "  he  had  been 
forced  to  take  on  had  been  the  disturbing  element, 
and  these,  he  was  now  convinced,  had  for  some 
reason  been  inspired.  He  told  of  that  visit  on  the 
Sunday  night  to  the  sutler's  store,  he  told  of  his 
narrow  escape,  and  of  his  shooting  down  one  of  the 
men,  and  the  fortunate  capture,  made  with  the 
timely  assistance  of  Tom  Chepstow,  of  his  prisoner. 
Dave  listened  attentively,  but  his  eyes  were  always 
on  Truscott,  and  at  the  finish  of  the  long  story  his 
commendation  was  less  hearty  than  one  might  have 
expected. 

"  You've  made  good,  Mason,  an'  I'm  obliged," 
he  said,  after  a  prolonged  silence.  "  Say,"  he  went 
on,  glancing  at  his  watch,  "  there's  just  four  and  a 
half  hours  to  the  time  we  start  back  for  the  camp. 
Go  over  to  Dawson's  shack  and  get  a  shake-down. 
Get  what  sleep  you  can.  I'll  call  you  in  time. 
Meanwhile  I'll  see  to  this  fellow,"  he  added,  indi- 
cating the  prisoner.  "  We'll  have  a  heap  of  time 
for  talk  on  the  way  to  the  camps." 

The  overseer's  eyes  lit. 

"  Are  you  going  up  to  the  camps  ?  "  he  inquired 
eagerly. 

"  Yes,  surely.  We'll  have  to  straighten  this  out." 
Then  a  sudden  thought  flashed  through  his  mind. 
"  There's  the  parson  and !  " 

Mason  nodded. 

"  Yes.  They've  got  my  shack.  There's  plenty 
of  arms  and  ammunition.  I  left  parson  to  hurry 
back  to " 


336          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

"  He  wasn't  with  her  when  you  left  ?  " 

There  was  a  sudden,  fierce  light  in  Dave's  eyes. 
Mason  shook  his  head,  and  something  of  the  other's 
apprehension  was  in  his  voice  as  he  replied  — 

"  He  was  going  back  there." 

Dave's  eyes  were  fiercely  riveted  upon  Truscott's 
face. 

"  We'll  start  earlier.     Get  an  hour's  sleep." 

There  was  no  misunderstanding  his  employer's 
tone.  In  fact,  for  the  first  time  since  he  had  left  the 
camp  Mason  realized  the  full  danger  of  those  two 
he  had  left  behind  him.  But  he  knew  he  had  done 
the  only  possible  thing  in  the  circumstances,  and 
besides,  his  presence  there  would  have  added  to 
their  danger.  Still,  as  he  left  the  office  to  seek  the 
brief  rest  for  which  he  was  longing,  he  was  not 
without  a  qualm  of  conscience  which  his  honest 
judgment  told  him  he  was  not  entitled  to. 

Dave  closed  the  door  carefully  behind  him.  Then 
he  came  back  to  his  chair,  and  for  some  moments 
surveyed  his  prisoner  in  silence.  Truscott  stirred 
uneasily  under  the  cold  regard.  Then  he  looked 
up,  and  all  his  bitter  hatred  for  his  one-time  friend 
shone  in  the  defiant  stare  he  gave  him. 

"  I've  tried  to  understand,  but  I  can't,"  Dave  said 
at  last,  as  though  his  words  were  the  result  of  long 

speculation.  "  It  is  so  far  beyond  me  that 

This  is  your  doing,  all  your  doing.  It's  nothing  to 
do  with  those — those  'scabs.'  You,  and  you  alone 
have  brought  about  this  strike.  First  you  pay  a 
man  to  wreck  my  mills — you  even  try  to  kill  me. 


MASON'S  PRISONER  337 

Now  you  do  this.  You  have  thought  it  all  out 
with  devilish  cunning.  There  is  nothing  that  could 
ruin  me  so  surely  as  this  strike.  You  mean  to 
wreck  me ;  nor  do  you  care  who  goes  down  in  the 
crash.  You  have  already  slain  one  man  in  your 
villainy.  For  that  you  stand  branded  a — murderer. 
God  alone  knows  what  death  and  destruction  this 
strike  in  the  hills  may  bring  about.  And  all  of  it  is 
aimed  at  me.  Why  ?  In  God's  name,  why  ?  " 

Dave's  manner  was  that  of  cold  argument.  He 
displayed  none  of  the  passion  that  really  stirred 
him.  He  longed  to  take  this  man  in  his  two  great 
hands,  and  crush  the  mean  life  out  of  him.  But 
nothing  of  such  feeling  was  allowed  to  show  itself. 
He  began  to  fill  his  pipe.  He  did  not  want  to 
smoke,  but  it  gave  his  hands  something  to  do,  and 
just  then  his  hands  demanded  something  to  do. 

His  words  elicited  no  reply.  Truscott's  eyes  were 
upon  the  hands  fumbling  at  the  bowl  of  the  pipe. 
He  was  not  really  observing  them.  He  was  wrapped 
in  his  own  thoughts,  and  his  eyes  simply  fixed 
themselves  on  the  only  moving  thing  in  the  room. 
Dave  put  his  pipe  in  his  mouth  and  refolded  his 
pouch.  Presently  he  went  on  speaking,  and  his 
tone  became  warmer,  and  his  words  more  rapid. 

"  There  was  a  time  when  you  were  a  man,  a 
decent,  honest,  happy  man  ;  a  youngster  with  all  the 
world  before  you.  At  that  time  I  did  all  in  my 
power  to  help  you.  You  remember?  You  ran 
that  mill.  It  was  a  matter  of  hanging  on  and  wait- 
ing till  fortune  turned  your  way  for  success  and 


338  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

prosperity  to  come.  Then  one  day  you  came  to- 
me; you  and  she.  It  was  decided  that  you  should 
go  away — to  seek  your  fortune  elsewhere.  We 
shook  hands.  Do  you  remember?  You  left  her 
in  my  care.  All  this  seems  like  yesterday.  I 
promised  you  then  that  always,  in  the  name  of 
friendship,  you  could  command  me.  Your  trust  I 
carried  out  to  the  letter,  and  all  I  promised  I  was 
ready  to  fulfil.  Need  I  remind  you  of  what  has 
happened  since?  Need  I  draw  a  picture  of  the 
drunkard,  gambler  who  returned  to  Malkern,  of  the 
insults  you  have  put  upon  her,  everybody  ?  Of  her 
patience  and  loyalty?  Of  the  manner  in  which 
you  finally  made  it  impossible  for  her  to  marry 
you  ?  It  is  not  necessary.  You  know  it  all — if  you 
are  a  sane  man,  which  I  am  beginning  to  doubt. 
And  now — now  why  are  you  doing  all  this?  I 
intend  to  know.  I  mean  to  drag  it  out  of  you 
before  you  leave  this  room  ! " 

He  had  risen  from  his  seat  and  stood  before  his 
captive  with  one  hand  outstretched  in  his  direction, 
grasping  his  pipe  by  the  bowl.  His  calmness  had 
gone,  a  passion  of  angry  protest  surged  through  his 
veins.  He  was  no  longer  the  cool,  clear-headed 
master  of  the  mills,  but  a  man  swept  by  a  fury  of 
resentment  at  the  injustice,  the  wanton,  devilish, 
mischievous  injustice  of  one  whom  he  had  always 
befriended.  Friendship  was  gone  and  in  its  place 
there  burned  the  human  desire  for  retaliation. 

Truscott's  introspective  stare  changed  to  a  wicked 
laugh.  It  was  forced,  and  had  for  its  object  the 


MASON'S  PRISONER  339 

intention  of  goading  the  other.  Dave  calmed 
immediately.  He  understood  that  laugh  in  time, 
and  so  it  failed  in  its  purpose  and  died  out.  In  its 
place  the  man's  face  darkened.  It  was  he  who  fell 
a  victim  to  his  own  intention.  All  his  hatred  for 
his  one-time  friend  rose  within  him  suddenly,  and 
swept  him  on  its  burning  tide. 

"  You  stand  there  preaching  !  You  !  "  he  cried 
with  a  ferocity  so  sudden  that  it  became  appalling. 
"  You  dare  to  preach  to  me  of  honesty,  of  friend- 
ship, of  promises  fulfilled  ?  You  ?  God,  it  makes 
me  boil  to  hear  you  !  If  ever  there  was  a  traitor  to 
friendship  in  this  world  it  is  you.  I  came  back  to 
marry  Betty.  Why  else  should  I  come  back  ? 
And  I  find — what?  She  is  changed.  You  have 
seen  to  that.  For  a  time  she  kept  up  the  pretense 
of  our  engagement.  Then  she  seized  upon  the  first 
excuse  to  break  it.  Why  ?  For  you  !  Oh,  your 
trust  was  well  fulfilled.  You  lost  no  time  in  my 
absence.  Who  was  it  I  found  her  with  on  my 
return  ?  You  !  Who  was  present  to  give  her 
courage  and  support  when  she  refused  to  marry 
me  ?  You  !  Do  you  think  I  haven't  seen  the  way 
it  has  all  been  worked  ?  You  have  secured  her 
uncle's  and  aunt's  support.  You !  You  have 
taken  her  from  me !  You !  And  you  preach 
friendship  and  honesty  to  me.  God,  but  you're  a 
liar  and  a  thief!" 

For  a  moment  the  lumberman's  fury  leapt  and  in 
another  he  would  have  crushed  the  man's  life  out 
of  him,  but,  in  a  flash,  his  whole  mood  changed. 


340          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

The  accusations  were  so  absurd  even  from  his  own 
point  of  view.  Could  it  be?  For  a  moment  he 
believed  that  the  loss  of  Betty  had  unhinged  Trus- 
cott's  mind.  But  the  thought  passed,  and  he  grew 
as  calm  now  as  a  moment  before  he  had  been 
furious,  and  an  icy  sternness  chilled  him  through 
and  through.  There  was  no  longer  a  vestige  of 
pity  in  him  for  his  accuser.  He  sat  down  and  lit 
his  pipe,  his  heavy  face  set  with  the  iron  that  had 
entered  his  soul. 

"  You  have  lied  to  yourself  until  you  have  come 
to  believe  it,"  he  said  sternly.  "  You  have  lied  be- 
cause it  is  your  nature  to  lie,  because  you  have 
not  an  honest  thought  in  your  mind.  I'll  not 
answer  your  accusations,  because  they  are  so  hope- 
lessly absurd;  but  I'll  tell  you  what  I  intend 
to  do." 

"  You  won't  answer  them  because  you  cannot 
deny  them  !  "  Truscott  broke  in  furiously.  "  They 
are  true,  and  you  know  it.  You  have  stolen  her 
from  me.  You  !  Oh,  God,  I  hate  you  !  " 

His  voice  rose  to  a  strident  shout  and  Dave 
raised  a  warning  hand, 

"  Keep  quiet ! "  he  commanded  coldly.  "  I  have 
listened  to  you,  and  now  you  shall  listen  to 
me." 

The  fire  in  the  other's  eyes  still  shone  luridly, 
but  he  became  silent  under  the  coldly  compelling 
manner,  while,  like  a  savage  beast,  he  crouched  in 
his  chair  ready  to  break  out  into  passionate  protest 
at  the  least  chance. 


MASON'S  PRISONER  341 

"  I  don't  know  yet  how  far  things  have  gone  in 
the  way  you  wish  them  to  go  up  there  in  the  hills, 
but  you  have  found  the  way  to  accomplish  your 
end  in  ruining  me.  If  the  strike  continues  I  tell 
you  frankly  you  will  have  done  what  you  set  out  to 
do.  My  resources  are  taxed  now  to  the  limit. 
That  will  rejoice  you." 

Truscott  grinned  savagely  as  he  sprang  in  with 
his  retort. 

"  The  strike  is  thoroughly  established,  and  there 
are  those  up  there  who'll  see  it  through.  Yes,  yes, 
my  friend,  it  is  my  doing ;  all  my  doing,  and  it 
cannot  fail  me  now.  The  money  I  took  from  you 
for  the  mill  I  laid  out  well.  I  laid  out  more  than 
that— practically  all  I  had  in  the  world.  Oh,  I 
spared  nothing ;  I  had  no  intention  of  failing.  I 
would  give  even  my  life  to  ruin  you  !  " 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  you  may  not  yet  have  to  pay 
that  price,"  Dave  said  grimly. 

"  Willingly." 

Truscott's  whole  manner  carried  conviction. 
Dave  read  in  the  sudden  clipping  of  his  teeth,  the 
deadly  light  of  his  eyes,  the  clenching  of  his  hands 
that  he  meant  it. 

"  I'll  ruin  you  even  if  I  die  for  it,  but  I'll  see 
you  ruined  first,"  cried  Truscott. 

"  You  have  miscalculated  one  thing,  Truscott," 
Dave  said  slowly.  "  You  have  forgotten  that  you 
are  in  my  power  and  a  captive.  However,  we'll  let 
that  go  for  the  moment.  I  promise  you  you  shall 
never  live  to  see  me  suffer  in  the  way  you  hope. 


342          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

You  shall  not  even  be  aware  of  it.  I  care  nothing 
for  the  ruin  you  hope  for,  so  far  as  I  am  personally 
concerned,  but  I  do  care  for  other  reasons.  In 
dragging  me  down  you  will  drag  Malkern  down, 
too.  You  will  ruin  many  others.  You  will  even 
involve  Betty  in  the  crash,  for  she,  like  the  rest  of 
us,  is  bound  up  in  Malkern.  And  in  this  you  will 
hurt  me — hurt  me  as  in  your  wildest  dreams  you 
never  expected  to  do."  Then  he  leant  forward  in 
his  seat,  and  a  subtle,  deliberate  intensity,  more 
deadly  for  the  very  frigidity  of  his  tone  was  in  his 
whole  attitude.  His  hands  were  outstretched 
toward  his  captive,  his  fingers  were  extended  and 
bent  at  the  joints  like  talons  ready  to  clutch  and 
rend  their  prey.  "  Now,  I  tell  you  this,"  he  went 
on,  "  as  surely  as  harm  comes  to  Betty  up  in  that 
camp,  through  any  doings  of  yours,  as  surely  as 
ruin  through  your  agency  descends  upon  this  val- 
ley, as  Almighty  God  is  my  Judge  I  will  tear  the 
life  out  of  you  with  my  own  two  hands." 

For  a  moment  Truscott's  eyes  supported  the 
frigid  glare  of  Dave's.  For  a  moment  he  had  it  in 
his  mind  to  fling  defiance  at  him.  Then  his  eyes 
shifted  and  he  looked  away,  and  defiance  died  out 
of  his  mind.  The  stronger  nature  shook  the  weaker, 
and  an  involuntary  shudder  of  apprehension  slowly 
crept  over  him.  Dave  stirred  to  the  pitch  of  threat- 
ening deliberate  slaughter  had  been  beyond  his  im- 
agination. Now  that  he  saw  it  the  sight  was  not 
pleasant. 

Suddenly  the  lumberman  sprang  to  his  feet 


MASON'S  PRISONER  343 

"  We'll  start  right  away,"  he  said,  in  his  usual 
voice. 

"  We  ?  "  The  monosyllabic  question  sprang  from 
Truscott's  lips  in  a  sudden  access  of  fear. 

"  Yes.     We.     Mason,  you,  and  me." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

TO   THE   LUMBER   CAMP 

THE  gray  morning  mist  rolled  slowly  up  the  hill- 
sides from  the  bosom  of  the  warming  valley  below. 
Great  billows  mounted,  swelling  in  volume  till, 
overweighted,  they  toppled,  surging  like  the  break- 
ing rollers  of  a  wind-swept  ocean.  Here  and  there 
the  rosy  sunlight  brushed  the  swirling  sea  with  a 
tenderness  of  color  no  painter's  brush  could  ever 
hope  to  produce.  A  precocious  sunbeam  shot 
athwart  the  leaden  prospect.  It  bored  its  way 
through  the  churning  fog  searching  the  depths  of 
some  benighted  wood-lined  hollow,  as  though  to 
rouse  its  slumbering  world. 

Dense  spruce  and  hemlock  forests  grew  out  of  the 
mists.  The  spires  of  gigantic  pines  rose,  piercing  the 
gray  as  though  gasping  for  the  warming  radiance 
above.  A  perching  eagle,  newly  roused  from  its 
slumbers,  shrieked  its  morning  song  till  the  re- 
bounding cries,  echoing  from  a  thousand  direc- 
tions, suggested  the  reveille  of  the  entire  feathered 
world.  The  mournful  whistle  of  a  solitary  marmot 
swelled  the  song  from  many  new  directions,  and  the 
raucous  chorus  had  for  its  accompaniment  the  thun- 
dering chords  of  hidden  waters,  seething  and  boil- 
ing in  the  mighty  canons  below. 

The  long-drawn, sibilant  hush  of  night  was  gone; 


TO  THE  LUMBER  CAMP  345 

the  leaden  mountain  dawn  had  passed;  day,  glorious 
in  its  waking  splendor,  had  routed  the  grim  shad- 
ows from  the  mystic  depths  of  canon,  from  the 
leaden-hued  forest-laden  valleys.  The  sunlight  was 
upon  the  dazzling  mountain-tops,  groping,  search- 
ing the  very  heart  of  the  Rocky  Mountains. 

Dave's  buckboard,  no  more  conspicuous  than 
some  wandering  ant  in  the  vast  mountain  world, 
crawled  from  the  depths  of  a  wide  valley  and 
slowly  mounted  the  shoulders  of  a  forest-clad  ridge. 
It  vanished  into  the  twilight  of  giant  woods,  only 
to  be  seen  again,  some  hours  later,  at  a  greater 
altitude,  climbing,  climbing  the  great  slopes,  or 
descending  to  gaping  hollows,  but  always  attaining 
the  higher  lands. 

But  his  speed  was  by  no  means  a  crawl  in 
reality,  only  did  it  appear  so  by  reason  of  the  vast- 
ness  of  the  world  about  him.  His  horses  were 
traveling  as  fresh,  mettlesome  beasts  can  travel 
when  urged  by  such  a  man  as  Dave,  with  his 
nerves  strung  to  a  terrific  tension  by  the  emergency 
of  his  journey.  The  willing  beasts  raced  down  the 
hills  over  the  uneven  trail  with  all  the  sure-footed 
carelessness  of  the  prairie-bred  broncho.  They 
took  the  inclines  with  scarcely  perceptible  slacken- 
ing of  their  gait.  And  only  the  sharp  hills  served 
them  for  breathing  space. 

Dave  occupied  the  driving-seat  while  Mason  sat 
guard  over  Jim  Truscott  in  the  carryall  behind. 
Those  two  days  on  the  trail  had  been  unusually 
silent,  even  for  men  such  as  they  were,  and  even 


346  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

taking  into  consideration  the  object  of  their  journey. 
Truscott  and  Mason  were  almost  "  dead  beat "  with 
all  that  had  gone  before,  and  Dave — he  was  wrapped 
in  his  own  thoughts. 

His  thoughts  carried  him  far  away  from  his  com- 
panions into  a  world  where  love  and  strife  were 
curiously  blended.  Every  thread  of  such  thought 
sent  him  blundering  into  mires  of  trouble,  the 
possibilities  of  which  set  his  nerves  jangling  with 
apprehension.  But  their  contemplation  only  stiff- 
ened his  stern  resolve  to  fight  the  coming  battle 
with  a  courage  and  resource  such  as  never  yet  had 
he  brought  to  bear  in  his  bid  for  success.  He 
knew  that  before  him  lay  the  culminating  battle  of 
his  long  and  ardent  sieging  of  Fortune's  strong- 
hold. He  knew  that  now,  at  last,  he  was  face  to 
face  with  the  great  test  of  his  fitness.  He  knew 
that  this  battle  had  always  been  bound  to  come 
before  the  goal  of  his  success  was  reached; 
although,  perhaps,  its  method  and  its  cause  may 
have  taken  a  thousand  other  forms.  It  is  not  in 
the  nature  of  things  that  a  man  may  march  un- 
tested straight  to  the  golden  pastures  of  his 
ambitions.  He  must  fight  every  foot  of  his  way, 
and  the  final  battle  must  ever  be  the  sternest,  the 
crudest.  God  help  the  man  if  he  has  not  the 
fitness,  for  Fate  and  Fortune  are  remorseless  foes. 

But  besides  his  native  courage,  Dave  was  stirred 
to  even  greater  efforts  by  man's  strongest  motive, 
be  his  cause  for  good  or  evil.  Love  was  the  main- 
spring of  his  inspiration.  He  had  desired  success 


TO  THE  LUMBER  CAMP  347 

with  a  passionate  longing  all  his  life,  and  his 
success  was  not  all  selfishness.  But  now,  before  all 
things,  he  saw  the  sweetly  gentle  face  of  Betty 
Somers  gazing  with  a  heartful  appeal,  beckoning 
him,  calling  him  to  help  her.  Every  moment  of 
that  long  journey  the  vision  remained  with  him  ; 
every  moment  he  felt  might  be  the  moment  of  dire 
tragedy  for  her.  He  dared  not  trust  himself  to 
consider  the  nature  of  that  tragedy,  or  he  must 
have  turned  and  rended  the  man  who  was  its  cause. 
Only  he  blessed  each  moment  that  passed,  bringing 
him  nearer  to  her  side.  He  loved  her  as  he  loved 
nothing  and  no  one  else  on  earth,  and  somehow 
there  had  crept  into  his  mind  the  thought  of  a 
possibility  he  had  never  yet  dared  to  consider.  It 
was  a  vague  ray  of  hope  that  the  impossibility  of 
his  love  was  not  so  great  as  he  had  always  be- 
lieved. 

How  it  had  stolen  in  upon  him  he  hardly  knew. 
Perhaps  it  was  his  mother's  persistent  references  to 
Betty.  Perhaps  it  was  the  result  of  his  talk  with 
the  man  who  had  brought  her  to  the  straits  she  was 
now  placed  in.  Perhaps  it  was  one  of  these  things, 
or  both,  coupled  with  the  memory  of  trifling 
incidents  in  the  past,  which  had  seemed  to  mean 
nothing  at  the  time  of  their  happening. 

Whatever  it  was,  his  love  for  the  girl  swept 
through  him  now  in  a  way  that  drove  him  head- 
long to  her  rescue.  His  own  affairs  of  the  mills, 
the  fate  of  his  friends  in  Malkern,  of  the  village 
itself;  all  these  things  were  driven  into  the  back- 


348  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

ground  of  his  thoughts.  Betty  needed  him.  The 
thought  set  his  brain  whirling  with  a  wild  thrilling 
happiness,  mazed,  every  alternate  moment,  with  a 
horrible  fear  that  drove  him  to  the  depths  of 
despair. 

It  was  high  noon  when  smoke  ahead  warned 
him  that  the  journey  was  nearly  over.  The  buck- 
board  was  on  the  ridge  shouldering  a  wide  valley, 
and  below  it  was  the  rushing  torrent  of  the  Red 
Sand  River.  From  his  position  Dave  had  a  full 
view  of  the  dull  green  forest  world  rolling  away, 
east  and  west,  in  vast,  undulating  waves  as  far  as 
the  eye  could  reach.  Only  to  the  south,  beyond 
the  valley,  was  there  a  break  in  the  dense,  verdant 
carpet.  And  here  it  was  he  beheld  the  telltale 
smoke  of  the  lumber  camp. 

"That's  the  camp,"  he  said,  looking  straight 
ahead,  watching  the  slowly  rising  haze  with  long- 
ing eyes.  "  Guess  we  haven't  to  cross  the  river. 
Good." 

Mason  was  looking  out  over  his  shoulder. 

"  No,"  he  said  after  a  moment's  pause,  while  he 
tried  to  read  the  signs  he  beheld.  "  We  don't  cross 
the  river.  Keep  to  the  trail.  It  takes  us  right  past 
my  shack." 

"  Where  Parson  Tom  and ?  " 

"  Yes,  where  they're  living." 

In  another  quarter  of  a  mile  they  would  be 
descending  the  hollow  of  a  small  valley  diverging 
from  the  valley  of  the  Red  Sand  River.  As  they 
drew  near  the  decline,  Dave  spoke  again. 


TO  THE  LUMBER  CAMP  349 

"  Can  you  make  anything  out,  Mason  ? "  he 
asked.  "  Seems  to  me  that  smoke  is  thick  for — for 
stovepipes.  There's  two  lots;  one  of  'em  nearer 
this  way." 

Mason  stared  out  for  some  moments,  shielding 
his  eyes  from  the  dazzling  sun. 

"  I  can't  be  sure,"  he  said  at  last.  "  The  nearest 
smoke  should  be  my  shack." 

A  grave  anxiety  crept  into  Dave's  eyes. 

"  It  isn't  thick  there,"  he  said,  as  though  trying 
to  reassure  himself.  "  That's  your  stovepipe  ?  " 

"  Maybe." 

Mason's  reply  expressed  doubt. 

Suddenly  Dave  leant  over  and  his  whip  fell 
sharply  across  the  horses'  backs.  They  sprang  at 
their  neck-yoke  and  raced  down  into  the  final  dip. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

AT    BAY 

IN  the  dugout  Tom  Chepstow  was  standing  with 
his  ear  pressed  against  the  door-jamb.  He  was 
listening,  straining  with  every  nerve  alert  to  glean 
the  least  indication  of  what  was  going  on  outside. 
His  face  was  pale  and  drawn,  and  his  eyes  shone 
with  anxiety.  He  was  gripped  by  a  fear  he  had 
never  known  before,  a  fear  that  might  well  come  to 
the  bravest.  Personal,  physical  danger  he  under- 
stood, it  was  almost  pleasant  to  him,  something 
that  gave  life  a  new  interest.  But  this — this  was 
different,  this  was  horrible. 

Betty  was  standing  just  behind  him.  She  was 
leaning  forward  craning  intently.  Her  hands  were 
clenched  at  her  sides,  and  a  similar  dread  was  look- 
ing out  of  her  soft  eyes.  Her  face  was  pale  with  a 
marble  coldness,  her  rich  red  lips  were  compressed 
to  a  fine  line,  her  whole  body  was  tense  with  the 
fear  that  lay  behind  her  straining  eyes.  There  was 
desperation  in  the  poise  of  her  body,  the  despera- 
tion of  a  brave  woman  who  sees  the  last  hope  van- 
ishing, swallowed  up  in  a  tide  of  disaster  she  is 
powerless  to  stem. 

For  nearly  a  week  these  two  had  been  penned 
up  in  the  hut.  But  for  the  last  thirty-six  hours 
their  stronghold  had  actually  been  in  a  state  of 


AT  BAY  351 

siege.  From  the  time  of  her  uncle's  realization  of 
the  conditions  obtaining  outside  Betty  had  not  ven- 
tured without  the  building,  while  the  man  himself 
had  been  forced  to  use  the  utmost  caution  in  mov- 
ing abroad.  It  had  been  absolutely  necessary  for 
him  to  make  several  expeditions,  otherwise  he,  too, 
would  have  remained  in  their  fortress.  They  re- 
quired water  and  fire-wood,  and  these  things  had  to 
be  procured.  Then,  too,  there  were  the  sick. 

But  on  the  third  day  the  climax  was  reached. 
Returning  from  one  of  his  expeditions  Chepstow 
encountered  a  drunken  gang  of  lumber-jacks.  Un- 
der the  influence  of  their  recent  orgy  their  spirit- 
soaked  brains  had  conceived  the  pretty  idea  of 
"  ilin'  the  passon's  works  " ;  in  other  words,  forcing 
drink  upon  him,  and  making  him  as  drunk  as  them- 
selves. In  their  present  condition  the  joke  appealed 
to  them,  and  it  was  not  without  a  violent  struggle 
that  their  intended  victim  escaped. 

He  was  carrying  fire-wood  at  the  time,  and  it 
served  him  well  as  a  weapon  of  defense.  In  a 
few  brief  moments  he  had  left  one  man  stunned 
upon  the  ground  and  another  with  a  horribly 
broken  face,  and  was  himself  racing  for  the  dugout. 
He  easily  outstripped  his  drunken  pursuers,  but  he 
was  quickly  to  learn  how  high  a  price  he  must  pay 
for  the  temporary  victory.  He  had  brought  a  ver- 
itable hornets'  nest  about  his  ears. 

The  mischief  began.  The  attack  upon  himself 
had  only  been  a  drunken  practical  joke.  The  sub- 
sequent happenings  were  in  deadly  earnest.  The 


352          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

mob  came  in  a  blaze  of  savage  fury.  Their 
first  thought  was  for  vengeance  upon  him.  In  all 
probability,  up  to  that  time,  Betty's  presence  in  the 
hut  had  been  forgotten,  but  now,  as  they  came  to 
the  dugout,  they  remembered.  In  their  present 
condition  it  was  but  a  short  step  from  a  desire  to 
revenge  themselves  upon  him,  to  the  suggestion  of 
how  it  could  be  accomplished  through  the  girl. 
They  remembered  her  pretty  face,  her  delicious 
woman's  figure,  and  instantly  they  became  raven- 
ing brutes,  fired  with  a  mad  desire  to  possess  them- 
selves of  her. 

They  were  no  longer  strikers,  they  were  not 
even  men.  The  spirit  taken  from  the  burning  store 
had  done  its  work.  A  howling  pack  of  demons  had 
been  turned  loose  upon  the  camp,  ready  for  any 
fiendish  prank,  ready  for  slaughter,  ready  for  any- 
thing. These  untutored  creatures  knew  no  better, 
they  were  powerless  to  help  themselves,  their  pas- 
sions alone  guided  them  at  all  times,  and  now  all 
that  was  most  evil  in  them  was  frothing  to  the  sur- 
face. Sober,  they  were  as  tame  as  caged  wolves 
kept  under  by  the  bludgeon  of  a  stern  discipline. 
Drunk,  they  were  madmen,  driven  by  the  un- 
tamed passions  of  the  brute  creation.  They  were 
animals  without  the  restraining  instincts  of  the  ani- 
mal, they  lusted  for  the  exercise  of  their  great  mus- 
cles, and  the  vital  forces  which  swept  through  their 
veins  in  a  passionate  torrent. 

Their  first  effort  was  a  demand  for  the  surrender 
of  those  in  the  hut,  and  they  were  coldly  refused. 


AT  BAY  353 

They  attempted  a  parley,  and  received  no  encour- 
agement. Now  they  were  determined  upon  cap- 
ture, with  loudly  shouted  threats  of  dire  conse- 
quences for  the  defenders'  obstinacy. 

It  was  close  upon  noon  of  the  second  day  of  the 
siege.  The  hut  was  barricaded  at  every  point. 
Door  and  windows  were  blocked  up  with  every 
available  piece  of  furniture  that  could  be  spared, 
and  the  repeating-rifles  were  loaded  ready,  and  both 
uncle  and  niece  were  armed  with  revolvers.  They 
were  defending  more  than  life  and  liberty,  and  they 
knew  it.  They  were  defending  all  that  is  most 
sacred  in  a  woman's  life.  It  was  a  ghastly  thought, 
a  desperate  thought,  but  a  thought  that  roused  in 
them  both  a  conviction  that  any  defense  brain 
could  conceive  was  justified.  If  necessary  not 
even  life  itself  should  stand  in  the  way  of  their  de- 
fense. 

The  yellow  lamplight  threw  gloomy  shadows 
about  the  barricaded  room.  Its  depressing  light 
added  to  the  sinister  aspect  of  their  extremity.  The 
silence  was  ominous,  it  was  fraught  with  a  portend 
of  disaster  ;  disaster  worse  than  death.  How  could 
they  hope  to  withstand  the  attack  of  the  men  out- 
side ?  They  were  waiting,  waiting  for  what  was  to 
happen.  Every  conceivable  method  had  been 
adopted  by  the  besiegers  to  dislodge  their  intended 
victims.  They  had  tried  to  tear  the  roof  off,  but 
the  heavy  logs  were  well  dovetailed,  and  the  process 
would  have  taken  too  long,  and  exposed  those 
attempting  it  to  the  fire  of  the  rifles  in  the  capable 


354          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

hands  of  the  defenders.  Chepstow  had  illustrated 
his  determination  promptly  by  a  half  dozen  shots 
fired  at  the  first  moving  of  one  of  the  logs.  Then 
had  come  an  assault  on  the  door,  but,  here  again, 
the  ready  play  of  the  rifle  from  one  of  the  windows 
had  driven  these  besiegers  hurriedly  to  cover. 
Some  man,  more  blinded  with  drink  than  the  rest 
of  his  comrades,  had  suggested  fire.  But  his  sug- 
gestion was  promptly  vetoed.  Had  it  been  the 
parson  only  they  would  probably  have  had  no 
scruples,  but  Betty  was  there,  and  they  wanted 
Betty. 

For  some  time  there  had  been  no  further  assault. 

"  I  wish  I  knew  how  many  there  were,"  Chepstow 
said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Would  that  do  any  good  ?  " 

The  man  moved  his  shoulders  in  something  like 
a  despairing  shrug. 

"  Would  anything  do  any  good  ?  " 

"  Nothing  I  can  think  of,"  Betty  murmured 
bitterly. 

"  I  thought  if  there  were  say  only  a  dozen  I 
might  open  this  door.  We  have  the  repeating- 
rifles." 

The  man's  eyes  as  he  spoke  glittered  with  a  fierce 
light.  Betty  saw  it,  and  somehow  it  made  her  shiver. 

It  brought  home  to  her  their  extremity  even 
more  poignantly  than  all  that  had  gone  before. 
When  a  brave  churchman's  thoughts  concentrated  in 
such  a  direction  she  felt  that  their  hopes  were  small 
indeed. 


AT  BAY  355 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  No,  uncle  dear.  We  must  wait  for  that  until 
they  force  an  entrance."  She  was  cool  enough  in 
her  desperation,  cooler  far  than  he. 

"  Yes,"  he  nodded  reluctantly,  "  perhaps  you're 
right, but  the  suspense  is — killing.  Hark!  Listen, 
they  are  coming  at  us  again.  I  wonder  what  it  is 
to  be  this  time." 

The  harsh  voices  of  the  drunken  mob  could  be 
plainly  heard.  They  were  coming  nearer.  Brutal 
laughter  assailed  the  straining  ears  inside,  and  set 
their  nerves  tingling  afresh.  Then  came  a  hush. 
It  lasted  some  seconds.  Then  a  single  laugh  just 
outside  the  door  broke  upon  the  silence. 

"  Try  again,"  a  voice  said.  "  Say,  here's  some 
more.  'Struth  you're  a  heap  of  G d fool- 
ishness." 

Another  voice  broke  in  angrily. 

"  God  strike  you  ! "  it  snarled,  "  do  it  your  b 

self." 

"  Right  ho  !  " 

Then  there  came  a  shuffling  of  feet,  and,  a  moment 
later,  a  scraping  and  scratching  at  the  foot  of  the 
door.  Chepstow  glanced  down  at  it,  and  Betty's 
eyes  were  irresistibly  drawn  in  the  same  direction. 

"  What  are  they  doing  now?" 

It  was  the  voice  of  the  wounded  strike-leader  on 
his  bunk  at  the  far  end  of  the  room.  He  was  star- 
ing over  at  the  door,  his  expression  one  of  even 
greater  fear  than  that  of  the  defenders  themselves. 
He  felt  that,  in  spite  of  the  part  he  had  played  in 


356          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

bringing  the  strike  about,  his  position  was  no  better 
than  these  others.  If  anything  happened  to  them 
all  help  for  him  was  gone.  Besides,  he,  too,  under- 
stood that  these  men  outside  were  no  longer 
strikers,  but  wolves,  whiskey-soaked  savages  beyond 
the  control  of  any  strike-leader. 

He  received  no  reply.  The  scraping  went  on. 
Something  was  being  thrust  into  the  gaping  crack 
which  stood  an  inch  wide  beneath  the  door.  Sud- 
denly the  noise  ceased,  followed  by  a  long  pause. 
Then,  in  the  strong  draught  under  the  door,  a  puff 
of  oil  smoke  belched  into  the  room,  and  its 
nauseous  reek  set  Chepstow  coughing.  His  cough 
brought  an  answering  peal  of  brutal  laughter  from 
beyond  the  door,  and  some  one  shouted  to  his 
comrades  — 

"  Bully  fer  you,  bo' !  Draw  'em  !  Draw  'em  like 
badgers.  Smoke  'em  out  like  gophers." 

The  pungent  smoke  belched  into  the  room,  and 
the  man  darted  from  the  door. 

"  Quick  !  "  he  cried.     "  Wet  rags  !    A  blanket !  " 

Betty  sprang  to  his  assistance.  The  room  was 
rapidly  filling  with  smoke,  which  stung  their  eyes 
and  set  them  choking.  A  blanket  was  snatched 
off  the  wounded  strike-leader,  but  the  process  of 
saturating  it  was  slow.  They  had  only  one  barrel 
of  water,  and  dared  not  waste  it  by  plunging  the 
blanket  into  it.  So  they  were  forced  to  resort  to 
the  use  of  a  dipper.  At  last  it  was  ready  and  the 
man  crushed  it  down  at  the  foot  of  the  door,  and 
stamped  it  tight  with  his  foot. 


AT  BAY  357 

But  it  had  taken  too  much  time  to  set  in  place. 
The  room  was  dense  with  a  fog  of  smoke  that  set 
eyes  streaming  and  throats  gasping.  In  reckless 
despair  the  man  sprang  at  one  of  the  windows  and 
began  to  tear  down  the  carefully-built  barricade. 

But  now  the  cunning  of  the  besiegers  was  dis- 
played. As  the  last  of  the  barricade  was  removed 
Chepstow  discovered  that  the  cotton  covering  of  the 
window  was  smouldering.  He  tore  it  out  to  let  in 
the  fresh  air,  but  only  to  release  a  pile  of  smoulder- 
ing oil  rags,  which  had  been  placed  on  the  thickness 
of  the  wall,  and  set  it  tumbling  into  the  room.  The 
window  was  barricaded  on  the  outside ! 

The  smoke  became  unbearable  now,  and  the  two 
prisoners  set  to  work  to  trample  the  smouldering 
rags  out.  It  was  while  they  were  thus  occupied 
that  a  fresh  disaster  occurred.  There  was  a  ter- 
rific clatter  at  the  stove,  and  a  cloud  of  smoke  and 
soot  practically  put  the  place  in  darkness.  Nor 
did  it  need  the  sound  of  scrambling  feet  on  the 
roof  to  tell  those  below  what  had  happened.  The 
strikers,  by  removing  the  topmost  joint  of  the  pipe, 
where  it  protruded  through  the  roof,  had  been  able, 
by  the  aid  of  a  long  stick,  to  dislodge  the  rest  of 
the  pipe  and  send  it  crashing  to  the  floor.  It 
was  a  master-stroke  of  diabolical  cunning,  for  now, 
added  to  the  smoke  and  soot,  the  sulphurous  fumes 
of  the  blazing  stove  rendered  the  conditions  of  the 
room  beyond  further  endurance. 

Half  blinded  and  gasping  Chepstow  sprang  at 
the  table  and  seized  a  rifle.  Betty  had  dropped 


358  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

into  a  chair  choking.  The  strike-leader  lay  moan- 
ing, trying  to  shut  out  the  smoke  with  his  one 
remaining  blanket. 

"  Come  on,  Betty,"  shouted  the  man,  in  a  frenzy 
of  rage.  "  You've  got  your  revolver.  I'm  going 
to  open  the  door,  and  may  God  Almighty  have 
mercy  on  the  soul  of  the  man  who  tries  to  stop  us  ! " 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

DAVE THE    MAN 

DAVE'S  buckboard  swept  up  the  slope  of  the  last 
valley.  It  reached  the  dead  level  of  the  old  travoy 
trail,  which  passed  in  front  of  Mason's  dugout  on 
its  way  to  the  lumber  camp.  He  was  looking  ahead 
for  signs  which  he  feared  to  discover ;  he  wanted 
the  reason  of  the  smoke  he  had  seen  from  afar  off. 
But  now  a  perfect  screen  of  towering  pine  forest 
lined  the  way,  and  all  that  lay  beyond  was  hidden 
from  his  anxious  eyes. 

He  flogged  his  horses  faster.  The  perfect  moun- 
tain calm  was  unbroken  ;  even  the  speeding  horses 
and  the  rattle  of  his  buckboard  were  powerless  to 
disturb  that  stupendous  quiet.  It  was  a  mere  cir- 
cumstance in  a  world  too  vast  to  take  color  from  a 
detail  so  insignificant.  It  was  that  wondrous  peace, 
that  thrilling  silence  that  aggravated  his  fears.  His 
apprehension  grew  with  each  passing  moment,  and, 
though  he  made  no  display,  his  clutch  upon  the 
reins,  the  sharpness  with  which  he  plied  his  whip, 
the  very  immobility  of  his  face,  all  told  their  tale  of 
feelings  strung  to  a  high  pitch. 

Mason  was  standing  directly  behind  him  in  the 
carryall.  He  steadied  himself  with  a  grip  upon 
the  back  of  the  driving-seat.  Beside  him  the 
wretched  Truscott  was  sitting  on  the  jolting  slats  of 


360          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

the  body  of  the  vehicle,  mercilessly  thrown  about 
by  the  bumping  over  the  broken  trail.  Mason,  too, 
was  staring  out  ahead. 

"  Seems  quiet  enough,"  he  murmured,  half  to 
himself. 

Dave  caught  at  his  words. 

"  That's  how  it  seems,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  doubt. 

"  It's  less  than  half  a  mile  now,"  Mason  went  on 
a  moment  later.  "  We're  coming  to  the  big  bend." 

Dave  nodded.  His  whip  fell  across  his  horses' 
quarters.  "  Best  get  ready,"  he  said  significantly. 
Then  he  laughed  mirthlessly  and  tried  to  excuse 
himself.  "  I  don't  guess  there'll  be  a  heap  of 
trouble,  though." 

"  No." 

Mason's  reply  carried  no  conviction.  Both  men 
were  in  doubt.  Neither  knew  what  to  expect. 
Neither  knew  in  what  way  to  prepare  for  the  meet- 
ing that  was  now  so  near. 

Now  the  trail  began  to  swing  out  to  the  right. 
It  was  the  beginning  of  the  big  bend.  The  walls 
of  forest  about  them  receded  slightly,  opening  out 
where  logs  had  been  felled  beside  the  trail  in  years 
past.  The  middle  of  the  curve  was  a  small  clear- 
ing. Then,  further  on,  as  it  inclined  again  to  the 
left,  it  narrowed  down  to  the  bare  breadth  of  the 
trail. 

"  Just  beyond  this " 

Mason  broke  off.  His  words  were  cut  short  by  a 
loud  shout  just  ahead  of  them.  It  was  a  shout  of 
triumph  and  gleeful  enjoyment.  Dave's  whip  fell 


DAVE— THE  MAN  361 

again,  and  the  horses  laid  on  to  their  traces.  From 
that  moment  to  the  moment  when  the  horses  were 
almost  flung  upon  their  haunches  by  the  sudden 
jolt  with  which  Dave  pulled  them  up  was  a  matter 
of  seconds  only.  He  was  out  of  the  buckboard, 
too,  having  flung  the  reins  to  Mason,  and  was 
standing  facing  a  small  group  of  a  dozen  men  whom 
it  was  almost  impossible  to  recognize  as  lumber- 
jacks. In  truth,  there  were  only  three  of  them  who 
were,  the  others  were  some  of  those  Mason  had 
been  forced  to  engage  in  his  extremity. 

At  the  sight  of  Dave's  enormous  figure  a  cry 
broke  from  the  crowd.  Then  they  looked  at  the 
buckboard  with  its  panting  horses,  and  Mason 
standing  in  the  carryall,  one  hand  on  the  reins  and 
one  resting  on  the  revolver  on  his  hip.  Their  cry 
died  out.  But  as  it  did  so  another  broke  from  their 
midst.  It  was  Betty's  voice,  and  her  uncle's. 
There  was  a  scuffle  and  a  rush.  Gripping  the  girl 
by  the  arm  Tom  Chepstow  burst  from  their  midst 
and  ran  to  Dave's  side,  dragging  Betty  with  him. 

"  Thank  God  !  "  he  cried. 

But  there  was  no  answering  joy  from  Dave.  He 
scarcely  even  seemed  to  see  them.  A  livid,  frozen 
rage  glared  out  of  his  eyes.  His  face  was  terrible 
to  behold.  He  moved  forward.  His  gait  was  cat- 
like, his  head  was  thrust  forward,  it  was  almost  as 
if  he  tiptoed  and  was  about  to  spring  upon  the 
mob.  As  he  came  within  a  yard  of  the  foremost 
of  the  men  he  halted,  and  one  great  arm  shot  out 
with  its  fist  clenching. 


362  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

"  Back  ! "  he  roared ;  "  back  to  your  camp,  every 
man  of  you  !  Back,  you  cowardly  hounds  !  " 

There  were  twelve  of  them ;  fierce,  savage,  half- 
drunken  men.  They  cared  for  no  one,  they  feared 
no  one.  They  were  ready  to  follow  whitherso- 
ever their  passions  led  them.  There  was  not  a 
man  among  them  that  would  not  fight  with  the  last 
breath  in  his  body.  Yet  they  hesitated  at  the 
sound  of  that  voice.  They  almost  shrank  before 
that  passion-lit  face.  The  man's  enormous  stature 
was  not  without  awe  for  them.  And  in  that 
moment  of  hesitation  the  battle  was  won  for  Dave. 
Chepstow's  repeating-rifle  was  at  his  shoulder,  and 
Mason's  revolver  had  been  whipped  out  of  its  holster 
and  was  held  covering  them. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  movement  in  the  crowd, 
somewhere  behind.  If  Dave  saw  it  he  gave  no 
sign.  But  Mason  saw  it,  and,  sharply  incisive,  his 
voice  rang  out  — 

"  The  first  man  that  moves  this  way  I'll  shoot 
him  like  a  dog  !  " 

Instantly  every  eye  among  the  strikers  was 
turned  upon  the  two  men  with  their  ready  weap- 
ons, and  to  a  man  they  understood  that  the  game 
was  up. 

"  Get  out !  Get  out — quick  ! "  Dave's  great 
voice  split  the  air  with  another  deep  roar.  And 
the  retreat  began  on  the  instant  with  those  in  the 
rear.  Some  one  started  to  run,  and  in  a  moment 
the  rest  had  joined  in  a  rush  for  the  camp,  vanish- 
ing into  the  forest  like  a  pack  of  timber  wolves, 


DAVE— THE  MAN  363 

flinging  back  fierce,  vengeful  glances  over  their 
shoulders  at  those  who  had  so  easily  routed 
them. 

No  one  stirred  till  the  last  man  had  disappeared. 
Then  Dave  turned. 

"  Quick !  "  he  cried,  in  an  utterly  changed  voice, 
"  get  into  the  buckboard  !  " 

But  Betty  turned  to  him  in  a  half-hysterical 
condition. 

"  Oh,  Dave,  Dave !  "  she  cried  helplessly. 

But  Dave  was  just  now  a  man  whom  none  of 
them  had  ever  seen  before.  He  had  words  for  no 
one — not  even  for  Betty.  He  suddenly  caught  her 
in  his  arms  and  lifted  her  bodily  into  the  buck- 
board.  He  scrambled  in  after  her,  while  Chepstow 
jumped  up  behind.  In  a  moment,  it  seemed,  they 
were  racing  headlong  for  the  camp. 


The  camp  was  in  a  ruinous  condition.  The 
destructive  demon  in  men  temporarily  demented 
was  abroad  and  his  ruthless  hand  had  fallen 
heavily.  The  whole  atmosphere  suggested  the  red 
tide  of  anarchy.  The  charred  remains  of  the 
sutler's  store  was  the  centre  of  a  net  of  ruin  spread 
out  in  every  direction,  and  from  this  radiated  the 
wreckage  of  at  least  a  dozen  shanties,  which  had, 
like  the  store,  been  burned  to  the  ground. 

In  the  circumstances  it  would  be  impossible  to 
guess  at  the  reasons  for  such  destruction  :  maybe  it 
was  the  result  of  carelessness,  maybe  a  mischievous 


364          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

delight  in  sweeping  away  that  which  reminded 
these  men  of  their  obligations  to  their  employer, 
maybe  it  was  merely  a  consequence  of  the  settle- 
ment of  their  own  drunken  feuds.  Whatever  the 
cause,  the  hideous  effect  of  the  strike  was  apparent 
in  every  direction. 

In  the  centre  of  the  clearing  was  a  great  gather- 
ing of  the  lumbermen.  Their  seared  faces  ex- 
pressed every  variety  of  mental  attitude,  from  fierce 
jocularity  down  to  the  blackest  hatred  of  inter- 
ference from  those  whose  authority  had  become 
anathema  to  them. 

They  were  gathered  at  the  call  of  those  who  had 
fled  from  the  dugout,  spurred  to  a  defense  of  what 
they  believed  to  be  their  rights  by  a  hurried, 
garbled  account  of  the  summary  treatment  just 
meted  out  to  them.  They  were  ready  for  more 
than  the  mere  assertion  of  their  demands.  They 
were  ready  to  enforce  them,  they  were  ready  for 
any  mischief  which  the  circumstances  prompted. 

It  was  a  deadly  array.  Many  were  sober,  many 
were  sobering,  many  were  still  drunk.  The  latter 
were  those  whose  cunning  had  prompted  them,  at 
the  outset  of  the  strike,  to  secrete  a  sufficient 
supply  of  liquor  from  their  fellows.  And  the 
majority  of  these  were  not  the  real  lumber-jacks, 
those  great  simple  children  of  the  forest,  but  the 
riffraff  that  had  drifted  into  the  camp,  or  had  been 
sent  thither  by  those  who  promoted  the  strike. 
The  real  lumber-jacks  were  more  or  less  incapable 
of  such  foresight  and  cunning.  They  were  slow- 


DAVE— THE  MAN  365 

thinking  creatures  of  vast  muscle,  only  swift  and 
keen  as  the  axes  they  used  when  engaged  in  the 
work  which  was  theirs. 

Through  the  rank  animal  growth  of  their  bodies 
their  minds  had  remained  too  stunted  to  display 
the  low  cunning  of  the  scallywags  whose  un- 
scrupulous wits  alone  must  supply  their  idle  bodies 
with  a  livelihood.  But  simple  as  babes,  simple  and 
silly  as  sheep,  and  as  dependent  upon  their 
shepherd,  as  these  men  were,  they  were  at  all  times 
dangerous,  the  more  dangerous  for  their  very 
simplicity.  Just  now,  with  their  unthinking  brains 
sick  with  the  poison  of  labor's  impossible  argu- 
ment, and  the  execrable  liquor  of  the  camp,  they 
were  a  hundred  times  more  deadly. 

Men  had  come  in  for  the  orgy  from  all  the 
outlying  camps.  They  had  been  carefully  shep- 
herded by  those  whose  business  it  was  to  make  the 
strike  successful.  Discontent  had  been  preached 
into  every  ear,  and  the  seed  had  fallen  upon 
fruitful,  virgin  soil.  Thus  it  was  that  a  great 
concourse  had  foregathered  now. 

There  was  an  atmosphere  of  restrained  excite- 
ment abroad  among  them.  For  them  the  news  of 
Dave's  arrival  had  tremendous  possibilities.  A 
babel  of  harsh  voices  debated  the  situation  in  loud 
tones,  each  man  forcing  home  his  argument  with  a 
mighty  power  of  lung,  a  never-failing  method  of 
supporting  doubtful  argument.  The  general  atti- 
tude was  threatening,  yet  it  hardly  seemed  to  be 
unanimous.  There  was  too  much  argument.  There 


366  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

seemed  to  be  an  undercurrent  of  uncertainty  with 
no  single,  capable  voice  to  check  or  guide  it. 

As  the  moments  sped  the  crowd  became  more 
and  more  threatening,  but  whether  against  the 
master  of  the  mills,  or  whether  the  result  of. hot 
blood  and  hot  words,  it  would  have  been  difficult 
to  say.  Then,  just  as  the  climax  seemed  to  be 
approaching,  a  magical  change  swept  over  the 
throng.  It  was  wrought  by  the  sudden  appearance 
of  Dave's  buckboard,  which  seemed  to  leap  upon 
the  scene  from  the  depth  of  the  forest.  And  as  it 
came  into  view  a  hoarse,  fierce  shout  went  up. 
Then,  in  a  moment,  an  expectant  hush  fell. 

Dave's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  crowd  before 
him.  He  gave  no  sign.  His  face,  like  a  mask, 
was  cold,  hard,  unyielding.  No  word  was  spoken 
by  those  in  the  buckboard.  Every  one,  with  nerves 
straining  and  pulses  throbbing,  was  waiting  for 
what  was  to  happen  ;  every  one  except  the  prisoner, 
Truscott. 

The  master  of  the  mills  read  the  meaning  of 
what  he  beheld  with  the  sureness  of  a  man  bred  to 
the  calling  of  these  men.  He  knew.  And  know- 
ing, he  had  little  blame  for  them.  How  could  it  be 
otherwise  with  these  unthinking  souls  ?  The  blame 
must  lie  elsewhere.  But  his  sympathy  left  his  de- 
termination unaltered.  He  knew,  no  one  better, 
that  here  the  iron  heel  alone  could  prevail,  and  for 
the  time  his  heel  was  shod  for  the  purpose. 

He  drew  near.  Some  one  shouted  a  furious 
epithet  at  him,  and  the  cry  was  taken  up  by  others. 


DAVE— THE  MAN  367 

The  horses  shied.  He  swung  them  back  with  a 
heavy  hand,  and  forced  them  to  face  the  crowd,  his 
whip  falling  viciously  at  the  same  time.  But,  for  a 
moment,  his  face  relaxed  its  cold  expression.  His 
quick  ears  had  detected  a  lack  of  unanimity  in  the 
execration.  Suddenly  he  pulled  the  horses  up. 
He  passed  the  reins  to  Mason  and  leaped  to  the 
ground. 

It  was  a  stirring  moment  The  mob  advanced, 
but  the  movement  seemed  almost  reluctant.  It 
was  not  the  rush  of  blind  fury  one  might  have 
expected,  but  rather  as  though  it  were  due  to  pres- 
sure from  behind  by  those  under  cover  of  their  com- 
rades in  front. 

Dave  moved  on  to  meet  them,  and  those  in  the 
buckboard  remained  deathly  still.  Mason  was  the 
first  to  move.  He  had  just  become  aware  that 
Dave  had  left  his  revolver  on  the  seat  of  the  vehicle. 
Instantly  he  lifted  the  reins  and  walked  the  horses 
closer  to  the  crowd. 

"  He's  unarmed,"  he  said,  in  explanation  to  the 
parson. 

Chepstow  nodded.  He  moved  his  repeating-rifle 
to  a  handier  position.  Betty  looked  up. 

"  He  left  that  gun  purposely,"  she  said.  "  I  saw 
him." 

Her  face  was  ghastly  pale,  but  a  light  shone  in 
her  eyes  which  nobody  could  have  failed  to  interpret. 
Mason  saw  it  and  no  longer  hesitated. 

"  Will  you  take  these  reins  ?  "  he  said.  "  And — 
give  me  your  revolver." 


368  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

The  girl  understood  and  obeyed  in  silence. 

"  I  think  there'll  be  trouble,"  Mason  went  on 
a  moment  later,  as  he  saw  Dave  halt  within  a  few 
yards  of  the  front  rank  of  the  strikers. 

He  watched  the  men  close  about  his  chief  in  a 
semicircle,  but  the  buckboard  in  rear  always  held 
open  a  road  for  retreat.  Now  the  crowd  pressed  up 
from  behind.  The  semicircle  became  dense. 
Those  in  the  buckboard  saw  that  many  of  the  men 
were  carrying  the  tools  of  their  calling,  prominent 
among  them  being  the  deadly  peavey,  than  which, 
in  case  of  trouble,  no  weapon  could  be  more  dan- 
gerous at  close  quarters. 

As  he  halted  Dave  surveyed  the  sea  of  rough, 
hard  faces  glowering  upon  him.  He  heard  the 
mutterings.  He  saw  the  great  bared  arms  and  the 
knotty  hands  grasping  the  hafts  of  their  tools.  He 
saw  all  this  and  understood,  but  the  sight  in  no  way 
disturbed  him.  His  great  body  was  erect,  his  cold 
eyes  unwavering.  It  was  the  unconscious  pose  of  a 
man  who  feels  the  power  to  control  within  him. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  inquired,  with  an  easy  drawl. 

Instantly  there  was  silence  everywhere.  It  was 
the  critical  moment.  It  was  the  moment  when, 
before  all  things,  he  must  convince  these  lawless 
creatures  of  his  power,  his  reserve  of  commanding 
force. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  demanded  again.  "  Where's  your 
leader?  Where's  the  gopher  running  this  layout  ? 
I've  come  right  along  to  talk  to  you  boys  to  see  if 
we  can't  straighten  this  trouble  out.  Where's  your 


DAVE— THE  MAN  369 

leader,  the  man  who  was  hired  to  make  you  think  I 
wasn't  treating  you  right ;  where  is  he  ?  Speak  up, 
boys,  I  can't  rightly  hear  all  you're  saying.  I  want 
to  parley  with  your  leaders." 

Mason  listening  to  the  great  voice  of  the  lumber- 
man chuckled  inaudibly.  He  realized  something 
of  Dave's  method,  and  the  shrewdness  of  it. 

The  mutterings  had  begun  afresh.  Some  of  the 
front  rank  men  drew  nearer.  Dave  did  not  move. 
He  wanted  an  answer.  He  wanted  an  indication  of 
their  actual  mood.  Somebody  laughed  in  the 
crowd.  It  was  promptly  shouted  down.  It  was 
the  indication  the  master  of  the  mills  sought.  They 
wanted  to  hear  what  he  had  to  say.  He  allowed 
the  ghost  of  a  smile  to  play  round  the  corners  of 
his  stern  mouth  for  a  moment.  But  his  attitude 
remained  uncompromising.  His  back  stiffened,  his 
great  shoulders  squared,  he  stood  out  a  giant 
amongst  those  giants  of  the  forest. 

"  Where's  your  man  ?  "  he  cried,  in  a  voice  that 
could  be  heard  by  everybody.  "  Is  he  backing 
down  ?  That's  not  like  a  lumber-jack.  P'r'aps%he's 
not  a  lumber-jack.  P'r'aps  he's  got  no  clear  argu- 
ment I  can't  answer.  P'r'aps  he  hasn't  got  the  grit 
to  get  out  in  the  open  and  talk  straight  as  man  to 
man.  Well,  let  it  go  at  that.  Guess  you'd  best  set 
one  of  you  up  as  spokesman.  I've  got  all  the  time 
you  need  to  listen." 

"  Your  blasted  skunk  of  a  foreman  shot  him 
down  ! "  cried  a  voice  in  the  crowd,  and  it  was  sup- 
ported by  ominous  murmurs  from  the  rest. 


370  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

"  By  God,  and  Mason  was  right ! "  cried  Dave,  in 
a  voice  so  fierce  that  it  promptly  silenced  the  mur- 
murs. His  dilating  eyes  rested  on  several  familiar 
faces.  The  faces  of  men  who  had  worked  for  him 
for  years,  men  whose  hair  was  graying  in  the  service 
of  the  woods.  He  also  flashed  his  lightning  glance 
upon  faces  unfamiliar,  strangers  to  his  craft.  "  By 
God,  he  was  right !  "  he  repeated,  as  though  to  force 
the  violence  of  his  opinion  upon  them.  "  I  could 
have  done  it  myself.  And  why?  Because  he  has 
come  here  and  told  you  you  are  badly  treated. 
He's  told  you  the  tale  that  the  profits  of  this  work 
of  yours  belong  to  you.  He's  told  you  I  am  an 
oppressor,  who  lives  by  the  sweat  of  your  labors. 
He  tells  you  this  because  he  is  paid  to  tell  you. 
Because  he  is  paid  by  those  who  wish  to  ruin  my 
mills,  and  put  me  out  of  business,  and  so  rob  you 
all  of  the  living  I  have  made  it  possible  for  you  to 
earn.  You  refuse  to  work  at  his  bidding ;  what  is 
the  result?  My  mill  is  closed  down.  I  am  ruined. 
These  forests  are  my  right  to  cut.  There  is  no 
more  cutting  to  be  done.  You  starve.  Yes,  you 
starve  like  wolves  in  winter.  You'll  say  you  can 
get  work  elsewhere.  Go  and  get  it,  and  you'll 
starve  till  you  get  it  at  half  the  wage  I  pay  you.  I 
am  telling  you  what  is  right.  I  am  talking  to  you 
with  the  knowledge  of  my  own  ruin  staring  me  in 
the  face.  You  have  been  told  you  can  squeeze  me, 
you  can  squeeze  a  fraction  more  of  pay  out  of  me. 
But  you  can't,  not  one  cent,  any  man  of  you ;  and 
if  you  go  to  work  again  to  keep  our  ship  afloat 


DAVE— THE  MAN  371 

you'll  have  to  work  harder  than  ever  before — for 
the  same  pay.  Now  pass  up  your  spokesman,  and 
I'll  talk  to  him.  I  can't  bellow  for  all  the  world  to 
hear." 

It  was  a  daring  beginning,  so  daring  that  those  in 
the  buckboard  gasped  in  amazement.  But  Dave 
knew  his  men,  or,  at  least,  he  knew  the  real  lum- 
ber-jack. Straight,  biting  talk  must  serve  him,  or 
nothing  would. 

Now  followed  a  buzz  of  excited  talk.  There 
were  those  among  the  crowd  who  from  the  begin- 
ning had  had  doubts,  and  to  these  Dave's  words 
appealed.  He  had  voiced  something  of  what  they 
had  hazily  thought.  Others  there  were  who  were 
furious  at  his  biting  words.  Others  again,  and 
these  were  not  real  lumber-jacks,  who  were  for 
turning  upon  him  the  savage  brutality  of  their 
drink-soaked  brains. 

An  altercation  arose.  It  was  the  dispute  of  fac- 
tions suddenly  inflamed.  It  was  somewhere  in  rear 
of  the  crowd.  Those  in  front  turned  to  learn  the 
cause.  Dave  watched  and  listened.  He  under- 
stood. It  was  the  result  of  his  demand  for  a 
spokesman.  Opinions  were  divided,  and  a  dozen 
different  men  were  urged  forward.  He  knew  he 
must  check  the  dispute.  Suddenly  his  voice  rang 
out  above  the  din. 

"  It's  no  use  snarling  about  it  like  a  lot  of  coy- 
otes," he  roared.  "  Pass  them  all  through,  and 
I'll  listen  to  'em  all.  Now,  boys,  pass  'em  through 
peaceably." 


372  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

One  of  the  men  in  front  of  him  supported  him. 

"Aye,  aye,"  he  shouted.  "That's  fair,  boys, 
bring  'em  along.  The  boss'll  talk  'em  straight." 

The  man  beside  him  hit  him  sharply  in  the  ribs, 
and  the  broad-shouldered  "jack"  swung  round. 

"  Ther'  ain't  no  '  boss  '  to  this  layout,  Peter,"  ob- 
jected the  man  who  had  dealt  the  blow.  "  Yonder 
feller  ain't  no  better'n  us." 

The  man  scowled  threateningly  as  he  spoke.  He 
was  an  enormous  brute  with  a  sallow,  ill-tempered 
face,  and  black  hair.  Dave  heard  the  words  and 
his  eyes  surveyed  him  closely.  He  saw  at  a  glance 
there  was  nothing  of  the  lumberman  about  him. 
He  set  him  down  at  once  as  a  French  Canadian 
bully,  probably  one  of  the  men  instrumental  in  the 
strike. 

However,  his  attention  was  now  drawn  to  the 
commotion  caused  by  six  of  the  lumbermen  being 
pushed  to  the  front  as  spokesmen.  They  joined 
the  front  rank,  and  stood  sheepishly  waiting  for 
their  employer.  Custom  and  habit  were  strong  upon 
them,  and  a  certain  awe  of  the  master  of  the  mills 
affected  them. 

"  Now  we'll  get  doing,"  Dave  said,  noting  with 
satisfaction  that  four  of  the  six  were  old  hands  who 
had  worked  beside  him  in  his  early  days.  "  Well, 
boys,  let's  have  it.  What's  your  trouble  ?  Give  us 
the  whole  story." 

But  as  spokesmen  these  fellows  were  not  bril- 
liant. They  hesitated,  and,  finally,  with  something 
approaching  a  shamefaced  grin,  one  of  them  spoke  up. 


DAVE— THE  MAN  373 

"  It's — it's  jest  wages,  boss." 

"  Leave  it  at '  wages,'  Bob  ! "  shouted  a  voice  at 
the  back  of  the  crowd. 

"  Yes,"  snarled  the  sallow-faced  giant  near  by. 
"  We're  jest  man  to  man.  Ther'  ain't  no  '  bosses  ' 
around." 

"  Hah  ! "  Dave  breathed  the  ejaculation.  Then 
he  turned  his  eyes,  steely  hard,  upon  the  last 
speaker,  and  his  words  came  in  an  unmistakable 
tone.  "  It  seems  there  are  men  here  who  aren't 
satisfied  with  their  spokesmen.  Maybe  they'll 
speak  out  good  and  plenty,  instead  of  interrupting." 

His  challenge  seemed  to  appeal  to  the  original 
spokesman,  for  he  laughed  roughly. 

"  Say,  boss,"  he  cried,  "  he  don't  cut  no  ice,  any- 
ways. He's  jest  a  bum  roadmaker.  He  ain't  bin 
in  camp  more'n  six  weeks.  We  don't  pay  no  'ten- 
tion  to  him.  Y'see,  boss,"  he  went  on,  emphasiz- 
ing the  last  word  purposely,  "  it's  jest  wages. 
We're  workin'  a  sight  longer  hours  than  is  right, 
an'  we  ain't  gettin'  nuthin'  extry  'cep'  the  rise  you 
give  us  three  months  back.  Wai,  we're  wantin' 
more.  That's  how." 

He  finished  up  his  clumsy  speech  with  evident  re- 
lief, and  mopped  his  forehead  with  his  ham-like  hand. 

"  And  since  when,  Bob  Nicholson,  have  you 
come  to  this  conclusion  ? "  demanded  Dave,  with 
evident  kindliness. 

His  tone  produced  instant  effect  upon  the  man. 
He  became  easier  at  once,  and  his  manner  changed 
to  one  of  distinct  friendliness. 


374  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

"  Wai,  boss,  I  can't  rightly  say  jest  when,  fer 
sure.  Guess  it  must  ha'  bin  when  that  orator-feller 
got  around " 

"  Shut  up  !  "  roared  some  one  in  the  crowd,  and 
the  demand  was  followed  up  by  distinct  cursing  in 
several  directions.  The  sallow-faced  roadmaker 
seized  his  opportunity. 

"  It's  wages  we  want  an'  wages  we're  goin'  to 
git ! "  he  shouted  so  that  the  crowd  could  hear. 
"  You're  sweatin'  us.  That's  wot  you're  doin', 
sweatin'  us,  to  make  your  pile  a  sight  bigger. 
We're  honest  men  up  here ;  we  ain't  skunks  what 
wants  wot  isn't  our  lawful  rights.  Ef  you're 
yearnin'  fer  extry  work  you  got  to  pay  fer  it.  Wot 
say,  boys  ?  " 

"  Aye  !  That's  it.  Extry  wages,"  cried  a  num- 
ber of  voices  in  the  background.  But  again  the 
chorus  was  not  unanimous.  There  were  those,  too, 
in  the  front  whose  scowling  faces,  turned  on  the 
speaker,  showed  their  resentment  at  this  interference 
by  a  man  they  did  not  recognize  as  a  lumber-jack. 

Dave  seized  his  opportunity. 

"  You're  wanting  extra  wages  for  overtime,"  he 
cried,  in  a  voice  that  carried  like  a  steam  siren. 
"  Well,  why  didn't  you  ask  for  them  ?  Why  did 
you  go  out  on  strike  first,  and  then  ask  ?  Why  ? 
I'll  tell  you  why.  I'll  tell  you  why  you  chose  this 
damned  gopher  racket  instead  of  acting  like  the 
honest  men  you  boast  yourselves  to  be.  I  can  tell 
you  why  you  wanted  to  lock  up  your  camp-boss, 
and  so  prevent  your  wishes  reaching  me.  I  can 


DAVE— THE  MAN  375 

tell  you  why  you  had  men  on  the  road  between 
here  and  Malkern  to  stop  letters  going  through.  I 
can  tell  you  why  you  honest  men  set  fire  to  the 
store  here,  and  stole  all  the  liquor  and  goods  in  it. 
I  can  tell  you  why  you  did  these  things.  Because 
you've  just  listened  like  silly  sheep  to  the  skunks 
who've  come  along  since  the  fever  broke  out.  Be- 
cause you've  listened  to  the  men  who've  set  out  to 
ruin  us  both,  you  and  me.  Because  you've  listened 
to  these  scallywags,  who  aren't  lumbermen,  who've 
come  among  you.  They're  not  'jacks'  and  they 
don't  understand  the  work,  but  they've  been  draw- 
ing the  same  wages  as  you,  and  they're  trying  to 
rob  you  of  your  living,  they're  trying  to  take  your 
jobs  from  you  and  leave  you  nothing.  That's  why 
you've  done  these  things,  you  boys  who've  worked 
with  me  for  years  and  years,  and  had  all  you 
needed.  Are  you  going  to  let  'em  rob  you? 
They  are  robbing  you,  for,  I  swear  before  God,  my 
mills  are  closed  down,  and  they'll  remain  closed, 
and  every  one  of  you  can  get  out  and  look  for  new 
work  unless  you  turn  to  at  once." 

A  murmur  again  arose  as  he  finished  speaking, 
but  this  time  there  was  a  note  of  alarm  in  it,  a  note 
of  anger  that  was  not  against  their  employer. 
Faces  looked  puzzled,  and  ended  by  frowning  into 
the  faces  of  neighbors.  Dave  understood  the  effect 
he  had  made.  He  was  waiting  for  a  bigger  effect. 
He  was  fighting  for  something  that  was  dearer  to 
him  than  life,  and  all  his  courage  and  resource  were 
out  to  the  limit.  He  glanced  at  the  sallow-faced 


3;6          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

giant.  Their  eyes  met,  and  in  his  was  a  fierce  chal- 
lenge. He  drew  the  fellow  as  easily  as  any  expert 
swordsman.  The  man  had  been  shrewd  enough  to 
detect  the  change  in  his  comrades,  and  he  promptly 
hurled  himself  into  the  fray  to  try  and  recover  the 
lost  ground.  He  stepped  forward,  towering  over 
his  fellows.  He  meant  mischief. 

"  See,  mates,"  he  shouted,  trying  to  put  a  jeer  in 
his  angry  voice,  "  look  at  'im  !  He's  come  here  to 
call  us  a  pack  o'  skunks  an'  gophers.  Him  wot's 
makin'  thousands  o1  dollars  a  day  out  of  us.  He's 
come  here  to  kick  us  like  a  lot  o'  lousy  curs.  His 
own  man  shot  up  our  leader,  him  as  was  trying  to 
fit  things  right  fer  us.  I  tell  you  it  was  murder — 
bloody  murder  !  We're  dirt  to  him.  He  can  kick 
us — shoot  us  up.  We're  dogs — lousy  yeller  dogs 
— we  are.  You'll  listen  to  his  slobbery  talk  an' 
you'll  go  to  work — and  he'll  cut  your  wages  lower, 
so  he  can  make  thousan's  more  out  o'  you."  Then 
he  suddenly  swung  round  on  Dave  with  a  fierce 
oath.  "  God  blast  you,  it's  wages  we  want — d'ye 
hear — wages  !  An'  we're  goin'  to  have  'em !  You 
ain't  goin'  to  grind  us  no  longer,  mister !  You're 
goin'  to  sign  a  'greement  fer  a  rise  o'  wages  of  a 
quarter  all  round.  That's  wot  you're  goin'  to 
do!" 

Dave  was  watching,  watching.  His  opportunity 
was  coming. 

"  I  came  to  talk  to  honest  'jacks,'  "  he  said  icily, 
"  not  to  blacklegs.  I'll  trouble  you  to  get  right 
back  into  the  crowd,  and  hide  your  ugly  head,  and 


DAVE— THE  MAN  377 

keep  your  foul  tongue  quiet.  The  boys  have  got 
their  spokesmen." 

His  voice  was  sharp,  but  the  man  failed  to  ap- 
prehend the  danger  that  lay  behind  it.  He  was  a 
bigger  man  than  Dave,  and,  maybe,  he  thought  to 
cow  him.  Perhaps  he  didn't  realize  that  the  master 
of  the  mills  was  now  righting  for  his  existence. 

There  was  an  instant's  pause,  and  Dave  took  a 
step  toward  him. 

"  Get  back  !  "  he  roared. 

His  furious  demand  precipitated  things,  as  he 
intended  it  should.  Like  lightning  the  giant 
whipped  out  a  gun. 

"  I'll  show  you  !  "  he  cried. 

There  was  a  sharp  report.  But  before  he  could 
pull  the  trigger  a  second  time  Dave's  right  fist  shot 
out,  and  a  smashing  blow  on  the  chin  felled  him  to 
the  ground  like  a  pole-axed  ox. 

As  the  man  fell  Dave  turned  again  to  the 
strikers,  and  no  one  noticed  that  his  left  arm  was 
hanging  helpless  at  his  side. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE  END  OF  THE  STRIKE 

WHEN  the  master  of  the  mills  faced  the  men 
again  he  hardly  knew  what  to  expect.  He  could 
not  be  sure  how  they  would  view  his  action,  or 
what  attitude  they  would  adopt.  He  had  con- 
sidered well  before  provoking  the  sallow-faced 
giant,  he  had  measured  him  up  carefully;  the  thing 
had  been  premeditated.  He  knew  the  influence  of 
physical  force  upon  these  men.  The  question  was, 
had  he  used  it  at  the  right  moment?  He  thought 
he  had  ;  he  understood  lumbermen,  but  there  were 
more  than  lumbermen  here,  and  he  knew  that  it 
was  this  element  of  outsiders  with  whom  he  was 
really  contending. 

The  fallen  man's  pistol  was  on  the  ground  at  his 
feet.  He  put  a  foot  upon  it ;  then,  glancing  swiftly 
at  the  faces  before  him,  he  became  aware  of  a  si- 
lence, utter,  complete,  reigning  everywhere.  There 
was  astonishment,  even  something  of  awe  in  many 
of  the  faces ;  in  others  doubt  mingled  with  a  scowl- 
ing displeasure.  The  thing  had  happened  so  sud- 
denly. The  firing  of  the  shot  had  startled  them  un- 
pleasantly, and  they  were  still  looking  for  the  result 
of  it.  On  this  point  they  had  no  satisfaction. 
Only  Dave  knew — he  had  reason  to.  The  arm 
hanging  limply  at  his  side,  and  the  throb  of  pain  at 


THE  END  OF  THE  STRIKE          379 

his  shoulder  left  him  in  no  doubt.  But  he  had  no 
intention  of  imparting  his  knowledge  to  any  one 
else  yet.  He  had  not  finished  the  fight  which  must 
justify  his  existence  as  the  owner  of  the  mills. 

The  effect  of  his  encounter  was  not  an  unpleasant 
one  on  the  majority  of  the  men.  The  use  of  a  fist 
in  the  face  of  a  gun  was  stupendous,  even  to  them. 
Many  of  them  reveled  in  the  outsider's  downfall, 
and  contemplated  the  grit  of  their  employer  with 
satisfaction.  But  there  were  others  not  so  easily 
swayed.  Amongst  these  were  the  man's  own  com- 
rades, men  who,  like  himself,  were  not  real  lumber- 
men, but  agitators  who  had  received  payment  to 
agitate.  Besides  these  there  were  those  unstable 
creatures,  always  to  be  found  in  such  a  community, 
who  had  no  very  definite  opinions  of  their  own,  but 
looked  for  the  lead  of  the  majority,  ready  to  side 
with  those  who  offered  the  strongest  support. 

All  this  was  very  evident  in  that  moment  of 
silence,  but  the  moment  passed  so  quickly  that  it 
was  impossible  to  say  how  far  Dave's  action  had 
really  served  him.  Suddenly  a  murmur  started. 
In  a  few  seconds  it  had  risen  to  a  shout.  It  started 
with  the  fallen  giant's  friends.  There  was  a  rush  in 
the  crowd,  an  ominous  swaying,  as  of  a  struggle  go- 
ing on  in  its  midst.  Some  one  put  up  a  vicious  cry 
that  lifted  clear  above  the  general  din. 

"  Lynch  him  !     Lynch  him  !  " 

The  cry  was  taken  up  by  the  rest  of  the  make- 
shifts and  some  of  the  doubters.  Then  came  the 
sudden  but  inevitable  awakening  of  the  slow,  fierce 


380          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

brains  of  the  real  men  of  the  woods.  The  awaken- 
ing brought  with  it  not  so  much  a  desire  to 
champion  their  employer,  as  a  resentment  that 
these  men  they  regarded  as  scallywags  should 
attempt  to  take  initiative  in  their  concerns ;  it  was 
the  rousing  of  the  latent  hatred  which  ever  exists  in 
the  heart  of  the  legitimate  tradesman  for  the 
interloper.  It  caught  them  in  a  whirlwind  of 
passion.  Their  blood  rose.  All  other  considera- 
tions were  forgotten,  it  mattered  nothing  the  object 
of  that  mutiny,  all  thought  of  wages,  all  thought  of 
wrongs  between  themselves  and  their  employer 
were  banished  from  their  minds.  They  hated 
nothing  so  badly  as  these  men  with  whom  they 
had  worked  in  apparent  harmony. 

It  was  at  this  psychological  moment  that  the 
final  fillip  was  given.  It  came  from  a  direction 
that  none  of  the  crowd  realized.  It  came  from  one 
who  knew  the  woodsman  down  to  his  very  core, 
who  had  watched  every  passing  mood  of  the  crowd 
during  the  whole  scene  with  the  intentness  of  one 
who  only  waits  his  opportunity.  It  was  Bob 
Mason  in  the  buckboard. 

"  Down  with  the  blacklegs !  Down  with  the 
dirty  « scabs ' ! "  he  shouted. 

In  a  moment  the  battle  was  raging.  There  was 
a  wild  rush  of  men,  and  their  steel  implements  were 
raised  aloft.  "  Down  with  the  '  scabs  '  !  "  The  cry 
echoed  and  reechoed  in  every  direction,  taken  up 
by  every  true  lumberman.  A  tumult  of  shouting 
and  cursing  roared  everywhere.  The  crowd  broke. 


THE  END  OF  THE  STRIKE          381 

It  spread  out.  Groups  of  struggling  combatants 
were  dotted  about  till  the  sight  suggested  nothing 
so  much  as  a  massacre.  It  was  a  fight  of  brutal 
savagery  that  would  stop  short  only  at  actual 
slaughter.  It  was  the  safety-valve  for  the  accumu- 
lated spleen  of  a  week's  hard  drinking.  It  was  the 
only  way  to  steady  the  shaken,  drink-soaked  nerves) 
and  restore  the  dull  brains  to  the  dead  level  of  a 
desire  to  return  to  work  and  order. 

Fortunately  it  was  a  short-lived  battle  too.  The 
lumber-jacks  were  the  masters  from  the  outset. 
They  were  better  men,  they  were  harder,  they  had 
more  sheer  "  grit."  Then,  too,  they  were  in  the 
majority.  The  "  scabs "  began  to  seek  refuge  in 
flight,  but  not  before  they  had  received  a  chastise- 
ment that  would  remain  a  sore  memory  for  many 
days  to  come.  Those  who  went  down  in  the  fight 
got  the  iron-shod  boots  of  their  adversaries  in  their 
ribs,  till,  in  desperation,  they  scrambled  to  their  feet 
and  took  their  punishment  like  men.  But  the 
victory  was  too  easy  for  the  lumber-jacks'  rage  to 
last.  Like  the  wayward,  big-hearted  children  of 
nature  they  were,  their  fury  passed  as  quickly  as  it 
had  stirred.  The  terror-stricken  flight  of  those 
upon  whom  their  rage  had  turned  inspired  in  them 
a  sort  of  fiendish  amusement,  and  in  this  was 
perhaps  the  saving  of  a  terrible  tragedy.  As  it 
was,  a  few  broken  limbs,  a  liberal  tally  of  wounds 
and  bruises  were  the  harvest  of  that  battle.  That, 
and  the  final  clearing  out  of  the  element  of  discon- 
tent. It  was  victory  for  the  master  of  the  mills. 


382  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

In  less  than  ten  minutes  the  victors  were  strag- 
gling back  from  their  pursuit  of  a  routed  foe. 
Dave  had  not  moved.  He  was  still  standing  beside 
the  fallen  giant,  who  was  now  recovering  con- 
sciousness from  the  knock-out  blow  he  had  received. 
They  came  up  in  small  bands,  laughing  and 
recounting  episodes  of  the  fight.  They  were  in 
the  saving  mood  for  their  employer.  All  thoughts 
of  a  further  strike  had  passed  out  of  their  simple 
heads.  They  came  back  to  Dave,  like  sheep,  who, 
after  a  wild  stampede,  have  suddenly  refound  their 
shepherd,  and  to  him  they  looked  for  guidance. 
And  Dave  was  there  for  the  purpose.  He  called 
their  attention  and  addressed  them. 

"  Now,  boys,"  he  said  cheerfully,  "  you've  got 
nicely  rid  of  that  scum,  and  I'm  going  to  talk  to 
you.  We  understand  each  other.  We've  worked 
too  long  together  for  it  to  be  otherwise.  But  we 
don't  understand  those  others  who're  not  lumbermen. 
Say,  maybe  you  can't  all  hear  me ;  my  voice  isn't 
getting  stronger,  so  I'll  just  call  up  that  buckboard 
and  stand  on  it,  and  talk  from  there." 

Amidst  a  murmur  of  approval  the  buckboard 
was  drawn  up,  and  not  without  tremendous  pain 
Dave  scrambled  up  into  the  driving-seat.  Then  it 
was  seen  by  both  lumbermen  and  those  in  the 
buckboard  that  he  had  left  a  considerable  pool  of 
blood  where  he  had  been  standing. 

Betty,  with  horror  in  her  eyes,  turned  to  him. 

"What  is  it?  "she  began.  But  he  checked  her 
with  a  look,  and  turned  at  once  to  the  men. 


THE  END  OF  THE  STRIKE          383 

"  I'm  first  going  to  tell  you  about  this  strike, 
boys,"  he  said.  "  After  that  we'll  get  to  business, 
and  I  guess  it  won't  be  my  fault  if  we  don't  figger 
things  out  right.  Here,  do  you  see  this  fellow 
sitting  here  ?  Maybe  some  of  you'll  recognize 
him?"  He  pointed  at  Jim  Truscott  sitting  in  the 
carryall.  His  expression  was  surly,  defiant.  But 
somehow  he  avoided  the  faces  in  front  of  him. 
"  I'm  going  to  tell  you  about  him.  This  is  the 
man  who  organized  the  strike.  He  found  the 
money  and  the  men  to  do  the  dirty  work.  He  did 
it  because  he  hates  me  and  wants  to  ruin  me.  He 
came  to  you  with  plausible  tales  of  oppression  and 
so  forth.  He  cared  nothing  for  you,  but  he  hated 
me.  I  tell  you  frankly  he  did  this  thing  because  he 
knew  I  was  pushed  to  the  last  point  to  make  good 
my  contract  with  the  government,  because  he 
knew  that  to  delay  the  output  of  logs  from  this 
camp  meant  that  I  should  go  to  smash.  In  doing 
this  he  meant  to  carry  you  down  with  me.  That's 
how  much  he  cares  for  your  interests."  A  growl 
of  anger'  punctuated  his  speech.  But  he  silenced 
them  with  a  gesture  and  proceeded.  His  voice 
was  getting  weaker,  and  a  deadly  pallor  was  steal- 
ing over  his  face.  Chepstow,  watching  him,  was 
filled  with  anxiety.  Betty's  brown  eyes  clung  to 
his  face  with  an  expression  of  love,  horror  and  pity 
in  them  that  spoke  far  louder  than  any  words. 
Mason  was  simply  calculating  in  his  mind  how 
long  Dave  could  keep  up  his  present  attitude. 

"  Do  you  get  my  meaning,  boys  ?  "  he  went  on. 


384          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

"  It's  this,  if  we  don't  get  this  work  through 
before  winter  I'm  broke — broke  to  my  last  dollar. 
And  you'll  be  out  of  a  billet — every  mother's 
son  of  you — with  the  winter  staring  you  in  the 
face." 

He  paused  and  took  a  deep  breath.  Betty  even 
thought  she  saw  him  sway.  The  men  kept  an  in- 
tense silence. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  went  on  a  moment  later,  pulling 
himself  together  with  an  evident  effort.  "  I'm  just 
here  to  talk  straight  business,  and  that's  what  you're 
going  to  listen  to.  First,  I'll  tell  you  this  fellow's 
going  to  get  his  right  medicine  through  me  in  the 
proper  manner.  Then,  second  and  last,  I  want  to 
give  you  a  plain  understanding  of  things  between 
ourselves.  There's  going  to  be  no  rise  in  wages.  I 
just  can't  do  it.  That's  all.  But  I'm  going  to  give 
each  man  in  my  camp  a  big  bonus,  a  nice  fat  wad 
of  money  with  which  to  paint  any  particular  town 
he  favors  red,  when  the  work's  done.  That's  to  be 
extra,  above  his  wages.  And  the  whole  lot  of  you 
shall  work  for  me  next  season  on  a  guarantee.  But 
from  now  to  the  late  fall  you're  going  to  work, 
boys,  you're  going  to  work  as  if  the  devil  himself 
was  driving  you.  We've  got  time  to  make  up,  and 
shortage  besides,  and  you've  got  to  make  it  up. 
I  don't  want  any  slackers.  Men  who  have  any 
doubts  can  get  right  out.  You've  got  to  work  as 
you  never  worked  in  your  lives  before.  Now,  boys, 
give  us  your  word.  Is  it  work  or " 

Dave  got  no  further.     A  shout — hearty,  enthusi- 


THE  END  OF  THE  STRIKE  385 

astic — went  up  from  the  crowd.  It  meant  work, 
and  he  was  satisfied. 

The  next  few  minutes  were  passed  in  a  scene  of 
the  wildest  excitement.  The  men  closed  round  the 
buckboard,  and  struggled  with  each  other  to  grip 
the  big  man's  hand.  And  Dave,  faint  and  weary 
as  he  was,  knew  them  too  well  to  reject  their 
friendly  overtures.  Besides,  they  were,  as  he  said, 
like  himself,  men  of  the  woods,  and  he  was  full  of  a 
great  sympathy  and  friendliness  for  them.  At  last, 
however,  he  turned  to  Chepstow. 

"Drive  back  to  the  dugout,  Tom,"  he  said. 
"  Things  are  getting  misty.  I  think — I'm — done." 


CHAPTER  XXX 

IN   THE   DUGOUT 

THREE  arduous  and  anxious  days  followed  the 
ending  of  the  strike,  and  each  of  the  occupants  of 
Mason's  dugout  felt  the  strain  of  them  in  his  or  her 
own  particular  way.  Next  to  the  strike  itself, 
Dave's  wound  was  the  most  serious  consideration. 
He  was  the  leader,  the  rudder  of  his  ship ;  his  was 
the  controlling  brain ;  and  he  was  a  most  exasper- 
ating patient.  His  wound  was  bad  enough,  though 
not  dangerous.  It  would  be  weeks  before  the  use 
of  his  left  arm  was  restored  to  him ;  but  he  had  a 
way  of  forgetting  this,  of  forgetting  that  he  had  lost 
a  great  quantity  of  blood,  until  weakness  prostrated 
him  and  roused  him  to  a  peevish  perversity. 

Betty  was  his  self-appointed  nurse.  Tom  Chep- 
stow  might  examine  his  wound  and  consider  his 
condition,  but  it  was  Betty  who  dressed  his  wound, 
Betty  who  prepared  his  food  and  ministered  to  his 
lightest  needs.  From  the  moment  of  his  return  to 
the  dugout  she  took  charge  of  him.  She  consulted 
no  one,  she  asked  for  no  help.  For  the  time,  at 
least,  he  was  her  possession,  he  was  hers  to  lavish 
all  the  fulness  of  her  great  love  upon,  a  love  that 
had  something  almost  maternal  in  its  wonderful 
protective  instinct. 

Mason  was  busy  with  the  work  of  reorganization. 


IN  THE  DUGOUT  387 

His  was  the  practical  hand  and  head  while  Dave 
was  on  his  sick-bed.  From  daylight  to  long  after 
dark  he  took  no  rest.  Dave's  counsel  guided  him 
to  an  extent,  but  much  had  to  be  done  without  any 
consultation  with  the  master  of  the  mills.  Provi- 
sioning the  camp  was  a  problem  not  easily  solved. 
It  was  simple  enough  to  order  up  food  from  Mai- 
kern,  but  there  would  be  at  least  a  week's  delay  be- 
fore its  arrival.  Finally,  he  surmounted  this  diffi- 
culty, through  the  return  of  Lieberstein,  who  had 
fled  to  the  woods  with  his  cash-box  and  a  supply  of 
provisions,  at  the  first  sign  of  trouble.  Now  he  had 
returned  to  save  what  he  could  from  the  wreck. 
The  Jew  needed  assistance  to  recover  his  looted 
property — what  remained  of  it.  The  overseer  gave 
him  that  assistance,  and  at  the  same  time  arranged 
that  all  provisions  so  recovered  should  be  redistrib- 
uted (at  a  price)  as  rations  to  the  men.  Thus  the 
delay  in  the  arrival  of  supplies  from  Malkern  was 
tided  over.  But  though  he  availed  himself  of  this 
means  of  getting  over  his  difficulty  he  was  fully  de- 
termined to  rid  the  camp,  at  the  earliest  oppor- 
tunity, of  so  treacherous  a  rascal  as  Lieberstein. 

In  two  days  the  work  of  restoration  was  in  full 
swing.  The  burned  store  and  shanties  were  run  up 
with  all  a  lumberman's  rapidity  and  disregard  for  fin- 
ish. Time  was  the  thing  that  mattered.  And  so 
wonderfully  did  Mason  drive  and  cajole  his  men,  that 
on  the  third  day  the  gangs  once  more  marched  out 
into  the  woods.  Once  again  the  forests  echoed 
with  the  hiss  of  saw,  the  ringing  clang  of  smiting 


388  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

axe,  the  crash  of  falling  trees,  the  harsh  voices  of 
the  woodsmen,  and  the  hundred  and  one  sounds  of 
bustling  activity  which  belong  to  a  lumber  camp  in 
full  work. 

That  day  was  a  pleasant  one  for  the  occupants  of 
the  dugout.  It  was  a  wonderful  work  Mason  had 
done.  They  all  knew  and  appreciated  his  devotion 
to  his  wounded  employer,  and  though  none  spoke 
of  it,  whenever  he  appeared  in  their  midst  their  ap- 
preciation of  him  showed  in  their  manner.  Betty 
was  very  gentle  and  kindly.  She  saw  that  he 
wanted  for  nothing  in  the  way  of  the  comforts 
which  the  dugout  could  povide. 

Tom  Chepstow  was  far  too  busy  with  his  sick  to 
give  attention  to  anything  else.  His  hands  were 
very  full,  and  his  was  a  task  that  showed  so  little 
result.  Dave,  for  the  most  part,  saw  everything 
that  was  going  on  about  him,  and  had  a  full  esti- 
mate of  all  that  was  being  done  in  his  interests  by 
the  devoted  little  band,  and,  absurdly  enough,  the 
effect  upon  him  was  to  stir  him  to  greater  irrita- 
bility. 

It  was  evening,  and  the  slanting  sunlight  shone 
in  through  one  of  the  windows.  It  was  a  narrow 
beam  of  light,  but  its  effect  was  sufficiently  cheering. 
No  dugout  is  a  haven  of  brightness,  and  just  now 
this  one  needed  all  that  could  help  to  lift  the  shadow 
of  sickness  and  disaster  that  pervaded  it. 

Betty  was  preparing  supper,  and  Dave,  lying  on 
his  stretcher,  his  vast  bulk  only  half  concealed  by  the 
blanket  thrown  over  him,  was  watching  the  girl  with 


IN  THE  DUGOUT  389 

eyes  that  fed  hungrily  upon  the  swift,  graceful 
movements  of  her  pretty  figure,  the  play  of  expres- 
sion upon  her  sweet,  sun-tanned  face,  the  intentness, 
the  whole-hearted  concentration  in  her  steady,  seri- 
ous eyes  as  she  went  about  her  work. 

Now  and  again  she  glanced  over  at  his  rough 
bed,  but  he  seemed  to  be  asleep  every  time  she 
turned  in  his  direction.  The  result  was  an  addi- 
tional care  in  her  work.  She  made  no  noise  lest 
she  should  waken  him.  Presently  she  stooped  and 
pushed  a  log  into  the  fire-box  of  the  cook-stove. 
The  cinders  fell  with  a  clatter,  and  she  glanced 
round  apprehensively.  Her  movement  was  so 
sudden  that  Dave's  wide-open  eyes  had  no  time 
to  shut.  In  a  moment  she  was  all  contrition  at  her 
clumsiness. 

"  I'm  so  sorry,  Dave,"  she  exclaimed.  «  I  did  so 
hope  you'd  sleep  on  till  supper.  It's  half  an  hour 
yet." 

"  I  haven't  been  sleeping  at  all." 

"Why,  I ", 

He  smiled  and  shook  his  head,  and  his  smile  de- 
lighted the  girl.  It  was  the  first  she  had  seen  in 
him  since  his  arrival  in  the  camp.  His  impatience 
at  being  kept  to  his  bed  was  perhaps  dying  out. 
She  had  always  heard  that  the  most  active  and  im- 
patient always  became  reconciled  to  bed  in  the  end. 

11  Yes,  I  did  it  on  purpose,"  Dave  said,  still  smil- 
ing. "You  see  I  wanted  to  think.  You'd  have 
talked  if  I  hadn't.  I " 

"  Oh,  Dave ! " 


390  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

Betty's  reproach  had  something  very  like  resent- 
ment in  it.  She  turned  abruptly  to  the  boiler  of 
stew  and  tasted  its  contents,  while  the  man  chuckled 
softly. 

But  she  turned  round  on  him  again  almost  im- 
mediately. 

"  Why  are  you  laughing  ? "  she  demanded 
quickly. 

But  he  did  not  seem  inclined  to  enlighten  her. 

"  Half  an  hour  to  supper?"  he  said  musingly. 
"  Tom'll  be  in  directly — and  Mason." 

Betty  was  still  looking  at  him  with  her  cooking 
spoon  poised  as  it  had  been  when  she  tasted  the 
stew. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  they'll  be  in  directly.  I've 
only  just  got  to  make  the  tea."  She  dropped  the 
spoon  upon  the  table  and  replaced  the  lid  of  the 
boiler.  Then  she  came  over  to  his  bedside.  "  What 
did  you  mean  saying  I  should  have  talked  ?  "  she 
asked,  only  now  there  was  a  smiling  response  to 
the  smile  still  lurking  in  the  gray  depths  of  the 
man's  eyes.  Dave  drew  a  long  sigh  of  resignation. 

"  Well,  y'  see,  Betty,  if  I'd  laid  here  with  my  eyes 
open,  staring  about  the  room,  at  you,  at  the  roof,  at 
the  window  for  a  whole  heap  of  time,  you'd  have 
said  to  yourself,  '  Dave's  suffering  sure.  He  can't 
sleep.  He's  miserable,  unhappy.'  You'd  have 
said  all  those  things,  and  with  all  your  kind  little 
heart,  you'd  have  set  to  work  to  cheer  me  up— same 
as  you'd  no  doubt  have  done  for  that  strike- leader 
fellow  you  shipped  over  to  the  sick  camp  to  make 


IN  THE  DUGOUT  391 

room  for  me.  Well,  I  just  didn't  want  that  kind  of 
cheering.  I  was  thinking — thinking  mighty  hard — 
figgering  how  best  to  make  a  broken-winged — er 
— owl  fly  without  waiting  for  the  wing  to  mend. 
Y'  see,  thinking's  mostly  all  I  can  do  just  now,  and 
I  need  to  do  such  a  mighty  heap  to  keep  me  from 
getting  mad  and  breaking  things.  Y'  see  every 
hour,  as  I  lie  here,  I  kind  of  seem  to  be  storing  up 
steam  like  a  locomotive,  and  sometimes  I  feel — 
feel  as  if  I  was  going  to  bust.  Being  sick  makes 
me  hate  things."  His  smiling  protest  was  yet  per- 
fectly serious.  The  girl  understood.  A  moment 
later  he  went  on.  "  Half  an  hour  to  supper?"  he 
said,  as  though  suddenly  reaching  a  decision  that 
had  cost  him  much  thought.  "  Well,  just  sit  right 
down  on  this  stretcher,  and  I'm  going  to  talk  you 
tired.  I'm  sick,  so  you  can't  refuse." 

The  man's  eyes  still  smiled,  but  the  seriousness 
of  his  manner  had  increased.  Nor  was  Betty  slow 
to  observe  it.  She  gladly  seated  herself  on  the  edge 
of  the  stretcher,  and  without  the  least  embarrass- 
ment, without  the  least  self-consciousness,  her  soft 
eyes  rested  on  the  rugged  face  of  her  patient.  She 
was  glad  that  he  wanted  to  talk — and  to  her,  and 
she  promptly  took  him  up  in  his  own  tone. 

"  Well,  I've  got  to  listen,  I  s'pose,"  she  said,  with 
a  bright  smile.  "  As  you  say,  you're  sick.  You 
might  have  added  that  I  am  your  nurse." 

"  Yes,  I  s'pose  you  are.  It  seems  funny  me 
needing  a  nurse.  I  s'pose  I  do  need  one?" 

Betty   nodded;    her   eyes  were   bright  with  an 


392  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

emotion  that  the  man's  words  had  all  unconsciously 
stirred.  This  man,  so  strong  for  himself,  so  strong 
to  help  others — this  man,  on  whom  all  who  came 
into  contact  with  him  leaned  as  upon  some  staunch, 
unfailing  support — this  man,  so  invincible,  so  mas- 
terful, so  eager  in  the  battle  where  the  odds  were 
against  him,  needed  a  nurse  !  A  great  pity,  a  great 
sympathy,  went  out  to  him.  Then  a  feeling  of  joy 
and  gratitude  at  the  thought  that  she  was  his  nurse 
succeeded  it.  She — she  alone  had  the  right  to  wait 
upon  him.  But  her  face  expressed  none  of  these 
feelings  when  she  replied.  She  nodded  gravely. 

"  Yes,  you  need  a  nurse,  you  poor  old  Dave. 
Just  for  once  you're  going  to  give  others  a  chance 
of  being  to  you  what  you  have  always  been  to 
them.  It  breaks  my  heart  to  see  you  on  a  sick- 
bed ;  but,  Dave,  you  can  never  know  the  joy,  the 
happiness  it  gives  me  to  be — your  nurse.  All  my 
life  it  has  been  the  other  way.  All  my  life  you 
have  been  my  wise  counselor,  my  ever-ready  loyal 
friend ;  now,  in  ever  so  small  a  degree,  you  have  to 
lean  on  me.  Don't  be  perverse,  Dave.  Let  me 
help  you  all  I  can.  Don't  begrudge  me  so  small  a 
happiness.  But  you  said  you  were  going  to  talk 
me  tired,  and  I'm  doing  it  all."  She  laughed  lightly, 
but  it  was  a  laugh  to  hide  her  real  feelings. 

The  man's  uninjured  arm  reached  out,  and  his 
great  hand  rested  heavily  on  one  of  hers.  The 
pressure  of  his  fingers,  intended  to  be  gentle,  was 
crushing.  His  action  meant  so  much.  No  words 
could  have  thanked  her  more  truly  than  that  hand 


IN  THE  DUGOUT  393 

pressure.  Betty's  face  grew  warm  with  delight ; 
and  she  turned  her  eyes  toward  the  stove  as  though 
to  see  that  all  was  well  with  her  cooking. 

"They're  cutting  to-day?"  Dave's  eyes  were 
turned  upon  the  window.  The  sunlight  was  dying 
out  now,  and  the  gray  dusk  was  stealing  upon  the 
room.  Betty  understood  the  longing  in  the  man's 
heart. 

"  Yes,  they're  cutting." 

He  stirred  uneasily. 

"  My  shoulder  is  mending  fast,"  he  said  a  mo- 
ment later.  And  the  girl  saw  his  drift. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  It's  mending,  but  it  won't  be  well — for  weeks," 
she  said. 

"  It's  got  to  be,"  he  said,  with  tense  emphasis, 
after  a  long  pause.  His  voice  was  low,  but  thrill- 
ing with  the  purpose  of  a  mind  that  would  not 
bend  to  the  weakness  of  his  body. 

"  You  must  be  patient,  Dave  dear,"  the  girl  said, 
with  the  persuasiveness  of  a  mother  for  her  child. 

For  a  moment  the  man's  brows  drew  together  in 
a  frown  and  his  lips  compressed. 

"  Betty,  Betty,  I  can't  be  patient,"  he  suddenly 
burst  out.  "  I  know  I'm  all  wrong ;  but  I  can't  be 
patient.  You  know  what  all  this  means.  I'm  not 
going  to  attempt  to  tell  you.  You  understand  it 
all.  I  cannot  lie  here  a  day  longer.  Even  now  I 
seem  to  hear  the  saws  and  axes  at  work.  I  seem 
to  see  the  men  moving  through  the  forests.  I 
seem  to  hear  Mason's  orders  in  the  dead  calm  of 


394  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

the  woods.  With  the  first  logs  that  are  travoyed 
to  the  river  I  must  leave  here  and  get  back  to  Mai- 
kern.  There  is  work  to  be  done,  and  from  now  on 
it  will  be  man's  work.  It  will  be  more  than  a  fight 
against  time.  It  will  be  a  battle  against  almost  in- 
calculable odds,  a  battle  in  which  all  is  against  us. 
Betty,  you  are  my  nurse,  and  as  you  hope  to  see 
me  through  with  this  broken  shoulder,  so  you  must 
not  attempt  to  alter  my  decision.  I  know  you. 
You  want  to  see  me  fit  and  well.  Before  all  things 
you  desire  that.  You  will  understand  me  when  I 
say  that,  before  all  things,  I  must  see  the  work 
through.  My  bodily  comfort  must  not  be  con- 
sidered ;  and  as  my  friend,  as  my  nurse,  you  must 
not  hinder  me.  I  must  leave  here  to-night." 

The  man  had  lifted  himself  to  a  half-sitting  pos- 
ture in  his  excitement,  and  the  girl  watched  him 
with  anxious  eyes.  Now  she  reached  out,  and  one 
hand  gently  pressed  him  back  to  his  pillow.  As 
he  had  said,  she  understood ;  and  when  she  spoke, 
her  words  were  the  words  he  wished  to  hear. 
They  soothed  him  at  once. 

"  Yes,  Dave.  If  you  must  return,  it  shall  be  as 
you  say." 

He  caught  her  hand  and  held  it,  crushing  its 
small  round  flesh  in  the  hollow  of  his  great  palm. 
It  was  his  gratitude,  his  gratitude  for  her  under- 
standing and  sympathy.  His  eyes  met  hers.  And 
in  that  moment  something  else  stirred  in  him. 
The  pressure  tightened  upon  her  unresisting  hand. 
The  blood  mounted  to  her  head.  It  seemed  to  in- 


IN  THE  DUGOUT  395 

toxicate  her.  It  was  a  moment  of  such  ecstasy  as 
she  had  dreamed  of  in  a  vague  sort  of  way — a  mo- 
ment when  the  pure  woman  spirit  in  her  was  ex- 
alted to  such  a  throne  of  spiritual  light  as  is  beyond 
the  dream  of  human  imagination. 

In  the  man,  too,  was  a  change.  There  was 
something  looking  out  of  his  eyes  which  seemed  to 
have  banished  his  last  thought  of  that  lifelong  de- 
sire for  the  success  of  his  labors,  something  which 
left  him  no  room  for  anything  else,  something 
which  had  for  its  inception  all  the  human  passion- 
ate desire  of  his  tremendous  soul.  His  gray  eyes 
glowed  with  a  living  fire;  they  deepened;  a  flush 
of  hot  blood  surged  over  his  rugged  features,  light- 
ing them  out  of  their  plainness.  His  temples 
throbbed  visibly,  and  the  vast  sinews  shivered  with 
the  fire  that  swept  through  his  body. 

In  a  daze  Betty  understood  the  change.  Her 
heart  leaped  out  to  him,  yielding  all  her  love,  all  that 
was  hers  to  give.  It  cried  aloud  her  joy  in  the 
passion  of  those  moments,  but  her  lips  were  silent. 
She  had  gazed  into  heaven  for  one  brief  instant, 
then  her  eyes  dropped  before  a  vision  she  dared  no 
longer  to  look  upon. 

"  Betty ! " 

The  man  had  lifted  to  his  elbow  again.  A  tor- 
rent of  passionate  words  rushed  to  his  lips.  But 
they  remained  unspoken.  His  heavy  tongue  was 
incapable  of  giving  them  expression.  He  halted. 
That  one  feverish  exclamation  was  all  that  came, 
for  his  tongue  clave  in  his  mouth.  But  in  that  one 


396  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

word  was  the  avowal  of  such  a  love  as  rarely  falls 
to  the  lot  of  woman.  It  was  the  man's  whole 
being  that  spoke. 

Betty's  hand  twisted  from  his  grasp.  She  sprang 
to  her  feet  and  turned  to  the  door. 

"  It's  Bob  Mason,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  that  was 
almost  an  awed  whisper,  as  she  rushed  to  the  cook- 
stove. 

The  camp-boss  strode  heavily  into  the  room. 
There  was  a  light  in  his  eyes  that  usually  would 
have  gladdened  the  master  of  the  mills.  Now, 
however,  Dave's  thoughts  were  far  from  the  mat- 
ters of  the  camp. 

"  We've  travoyed  a  hundred  to  the  river  bank ! " 
the  lumberman  exclaimed  in  a  tone  of  triumph 
"  The  work's  begun  ! " 

It  was  Betty  who  answered  him.  Hers  was  the 
ready  sympathy,  the  heart  to  understand  for  others 
equally  with  herself.  She  turned  with  a  smile  of 
welcome,  of  pride  in  his  pride. 

"  Bob,  you're  a  gem  ! "  she  cried,  holding  out  a 
hand  of  kindliness  to  him. 

And  Dave's  tardy  words  followed  immediately 
with  characteristic  sincerity. 

"  Thanks,  Bob,"  he  said,  in  his  deep  tones. 

"  It's  all  right,  boss,  they're  working  by  flare  to- 
night, an'  they're  going  on  till  ten  o'clock." 

Dave  nodded.  His  thoughts  had  once  more 
turned  into  the  smooth  channel  of  his  affairs. 
Betty  was  serving  out  supper. 

A  few  moments  later,  weary  and  depressed,  the 


IN  THE  DUGOUT  397 

parson  came  in  for  his  supper.  His  report  was 
much  the  same  as  usual.  Progress — all  his  patients 
were  progressing,  but  it  was  slow  work,  for  the 
recent  battle  had  added  to  the  number  of  his  pa- 
tients. 

There  was  very  little  talk  until  supper  was  over. 
Then  it  began  as  Mason  was  preparing  to  depart 
again  to  his  work.  Dave  spoke  of  his  decision 
without  any  preamble. 

"  Say,  folks,  I'm  going  back  to  Malkern  to- 
night," he  said,  with  a  smiling  glance  of  humor  at 
his  friends  in  anticipation  of  the  storm  of  protest  he 
knew  his  announcement  would  bring  upon  himself. 

Mason  was  on  his  feet  in  an  instant. 

"  You  can't  do  it,  boss !  "  he  exclaimed. 
"You " 

"No  you  don't,  Dave,  old  friend,"  broke  in 
Chepstow,  with  a  shake  of  his  head.  "  You'll  stay 
right  here  till  I  say  '  go.'  " 

Dave's  smile  broadened,  and  his  eyes  sought 
Betty's. 

"  Well,  Betty?"  he  demanded. 

But  Betty  understood. 

'•  I  have  nothing  to  say,"  she  replied  quietly. 

Dave  promptly  turned  again  to  the  parson.  His 
smile  had  gone  again. 

"  I've  got  to  go,  Tom,"  he  said.  "  My  work's 
done  here,  but  it  hasn't  begun  yet  in  Malkern.  Do 
you  get  my  meaning?  Until  the  cutting  began  up 
here  I  was  not  needed  down  there.  Now  it  is 
different.  There  is  no  one  in  Malkern  to  head 


398          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

things.  Dawson  and  Odd  are  good  men,  but  they 
are  only  my — foremen.  It  is  imperative  that  I  go, 
and — to-night." 

"  But  look  here,  boss,  it  can't  be  done,"  cried 
Mason,  with  a  sort  of  hopeless  earnestness.  "  You 
aren't  fit  to  move  yet.  The  journey  down — you'd 
never  stand  it.  Besides " 

"  Yes,  besides,  who's  to  take  you  down  ?  How 
are  you  going  ?  "  Chepstow  broke  in  sharply.  He 
meant  to  clinch  the  matter  once  for  all. 

Dave's  manner  returned  to  the  peevishness  of  his 
invalid  state. 

"  There's  the  buckboard,"  he  said  sharply. 

"  Can  you  drive  it  ?  "  demanded  the  parson  with 
equal  sharpness.  "  I  can't  take  you  down.  I  can't 
leave  the  sick.  Mason  is  needed  here.  Well  ?  " 

"  Don't  worry.  I'm  driving  myself,"  Dave  said 
soberly. 

Chepstow  sprang  to  his  feet  and  waved  his  pipe 
in  the  air  in  his  angry  impatience. 

"  You're  mad  !  You  drive  ?  Hang  it,  man,  you 
couldn't  drive  a  team  of  fleas.  Get  up !  Get  up 
from  that  stretcher  now,  and  see  how  much  driving 
you  could  do.  See  here,  Dave,  I  absolutely  forbid 
you  to  attempt  any  such  thing." 

Dave  raised  himself  upon  his  elbow.  His  steady 
eyes  had  something  of  an  angry  smile  in  them. 

"  See  here,  Tom,"  he  said,  imitating  the  other's 
manner.  "You  can  talk  till  you're  black  in  the 
face.  I'm  going  down  to-night.  Mason's  going  to 
hook  the  buckboard  up  for  me  and  fetch  Truscott 


IN  THE  DUGOUT  399 

along.  I'll  have  to  take  him  down  too.  It's  no 
use  in  your  kicking,  Tom,"  he  went  on,  as  the 
parson  opened  his  lips  for  further  protest,  "  I'm 
going."  He  turned  again  to  Mason.  "  I'll  need 
the  buckboard  and  team  in  an  hour.  Guess  you'll 
see  to  it,  boy.  An'  say,  just  set  food  for  the  two 
of  us  in  it,  and  half  a  sack  of  oats  for  the 

horses " 

"  One  moment,  Bob,"  interrupted  Betty.  She 
had  been  merely  an  interested  listener  to  the  dis- 
cussion, sitting  at  the  far  end  of  the  supper  table. 
Now  she  came  over  to  Dave's  bedside.  "  You'd 
best  put  in  food  for  three."  Then  she  looked  down 
at  Dave,  smiling  reassurance.  From  him  she 
turned  to  her  uncle  with  a  laughing  glance. 
"Trust  you  men  to  argue  and  wrangle  over 
things  that  can  be  settled  without  the  least  diffi- 
culty. Dave  here  must  get  down  to  Malkern.  I 
understand  the  importance  of  his  presence  there. 
Very  well,  he  must  go.  Therefore  it's  only  a 
question  how  he  can  get  there  with  the  least 
possible  danger  to  himself.  It's  plain  Bob  can't  go 
down.  He  must  see  the  work  through  here.  You, 
uncle,  must  also  stay.  It  is  your  duty  to  the  sick. 
We  cannot  send  any  of  the  men.  They  are  all 
needed.  Well,  I'm  going  to  drive  him  down. 
We'll  make  him  comfortable  in  the  carryall,  and 
Truscott  can  share  the  driving-seat  with  me — care- 
fully secured  to  prevent  him  getting  away.  There 
you  are.  I  will  be  responsible  for  Dave's  welfare. 
You  need  not  be  anxious." 


400          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

She  turned  with  such  a  look  of  confident  affection 
upon  the  sick  man,  that,  for  the  moment,  no  one 
had  a  word  of  protest  to  offer.  It  was  Dave  who 
spoke  first.  He  took  her  hand  in  his  and  nodded 
his  great  head  at  her. 

"  Thanks,  little  Betty,"  he  said.  "  I  shall  be 
perfectly  safe  in  your  charge." 

And  his  words  were  ample  reward  to  the  woman 
who  loved  him.  It  was  his  acknowledgment  of 
his  dependence  upon  her. 

After  that  there  was  discussion,  argument,  pro- 
test for  nearly  half  an  hour.  But  Dave  and  Betty 
held  to  their  decision,  and,  at  last,  Tom  Chepstow 
gave  way  to  them.  Then  it  was  that  Mason  went 
off  to  make  preparations.  The  parson  went  to 
assist  him,  and  Betty  and  Dave  were  once  more 
alone. 

Betty  let  her  uncle  go  and  then  lit  the  lamp. 
For  some  moments  no  word  was  spoken  between 
the  sick  man  and  his  nurse.  The  girl  cleared  the 
supper  things  and  put  a  kettle  on  the  stove.  Then, 
while  watching  for  it  to  boil,  she  was  about  to  pack 
up  her  few  belongings  for  the  journey.  But  she 
changed  her  mind.  Instead  she  came  back  to  the 
table  and  faced  the  stretcher  on  which  the  sick 
man  was  lying. 

"  Dave,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  will  you 
promise  me  something  ?  " 

Dave  turned  his  face  toward  her. 

"  Anything,"  he  said,  in  all  seriousness. 

The  girl  waited.     She  was  gauging  the  meaning 


IN  THE  DUGOUT  401 

of  his  reply.  In  anybody  else  that  answer  could 
not  have  been  taken  seriously.  In  him  it  might  be 
different. 

"  It's  a  big  thing,"  she  said  doubtfully. 

"  It  don't  matter,  little  girl,  I  just  mean  it." 

She  came  slowly  over  to  his  side. 

"  Do  you  remember,  I  once  got  you  to  teach  me 
the  business  of  the  mill  ?  I  wanted  to  learn  then 
so  I  could  help  some  one.  I  want  to  help  some 
one  now.  But  it's  a  different '  some  one '  this  time. 
Do  you  understand?  I — I  haven't  forgotten  a 
single  thing  I  learned  from  you.  Will  you  let  me 
help  you?  You  cannot  do  all  now.  Not  until 
your  arm  is  better."  She  dropped  upon  her  knees 
at  his  bedside.  "  Dave,  don't  refuse  me.  You 
shall  just  give  your  orders  to  me.  I  will  see  they 
are  carried  out.  We — you  and  I  together — will 
run  your  mills  to  the  success  that  I  know  is  going 
to  be  yours.  Don't  say  no,  Dave — dear." 

The  man  had  turned  to  her.  He  was  looking 
into  the  depths  of  the  fearless  brown  eyes  before 
him.  He  had  no  intention  of  refusing  her,  but  he 
was  looking,  looking  deep  down  into  the  beautiful, 
woman's  heart  that  was  beating  within  her  bosom. 

"  I'll  not  refuse  you,  Betty.  I  only  thank  God 
Almighty  for  such  a  little  friend." 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

AT   MIDNIGHT 

THE  silence  of  the  night  was  unbroken.  The 
valley  of  the  Red  Sand  River  was  wrapped  in  a 
peace  such  as  it  had  never  known  since  Dave  had 
first  brought  into  it  the  restless  activity  of  his  Amer- 
ican spirit.  But  it  was  a  depressing  peace  to  the 
dwellers  in  the  valley,  for  it  portended  disaster. 
No  word  had  reached  them  of  the  prospects  at  the 
mill,  only  a  vague  rumor  had  spread  of  the  doings 
at  the  lumber  camp.  Dave  knew  the  value  of 
silence  in  such  matters,  and  he  had  taken  care  to 
enforce  silence  on  all  who  were  in  a  position  to 
enlighten  the  minds  which  thirsted  for  such  infor- 
mation. 

The  people  of  Malkern  were  waiting,  waiting  for 
something  definite  on  the  part  of  the  master  of  the 
mills.  On  him  depended  their  future  movements. 
The  mill  was  silent,  even  though  the  work  of  re- 
pairing had  been  completed.  But,  as  yet,  they  had 
not  lost  faith  in  the  man  who  had  piloted  them 
through  all  the  shoals  of  early  struggles  to  the 
haven  of  comparative  prosperity.  However,  the 
calm,  the  unwonted  silence  of  the  valley  depressed 
and  worried  them.  They  longed  for  the  drone, 
however  monotonous,  of  the  mill.  They  loved  it, 
for  it  meant  that  their  wheels  of  life  were  well  oiled, 


AT  MIDNIGHT  403 

and  that  they  were  driving  pleasantly  along  their 
set  track  to  the  terminal  of  success. 

Yet  while  the  village  slept  all  was  intense  ac- 
tivity at  the  mills.  The  men  had  been  gathered 
together  again,  late  that  night,  and  the  army  of 
workers  was  once  more  complete.  The  sawyers 
were  at  their  saws,  oiling  and  fitting,  and  generally 
making  ready  for  work.  The  engineers  were  at 
their  engines,  the  firemen  at  their  furnaces,  the 
lumber-jacks  were  at  the  shoots,  and  in  the  yards. 
The  boom  was  manned  by  men  who  sat  around 
smoking,  peavey  in  hand,  ready  to  handle  the 
mightiest "  ninety-footers  "  that  the  mountain  forests 
could  send  them.  The  checkers  were  at  their  posts, 
and  the  tally  boys  were  "  shooting  craps "  at  the 
foot  of  the  shoots.  The  mill,  like  a  resting  giant 
lying  prone  upon  his  back,  was  bursting  with  a 
latent  strength  and  activity  that  only  needed  the 
controlling  will  to  set  in  motion,  to  drive  it  to  an 
effort  such  as  Malkern  had  never  seen  before,  such 
as,  perhaps,  Malkern  would  never  see  again.  And 
inside  Dave's  office,  that  Will  lay  watching  and 
waiting. 

It  was  a  curious  scene  inside  the  office.  The 
place  had  been  largely  converted  since  the  master 
of  the  mills  had  returned.  It  was  half  sick  room, 
half  office,  and  the  feminine  touch  about  the  place 
was  quite  incongruous  in  the  office  of  such  a  man 
as  Dave.  But  then  just  now  Dave's  control  was 
only  of  the  mill  outside.  In  this  room  he  yielded 
to  another  authority.  He  was  in  the  hands  of 


404          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

womenfolk;  that  is,  his  body  was.  He  had  no 
word  to  say  in  the  arrangement  of  the  room,  and 
he  was  only  permitted  to  think  his  control  outside. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock,  and  his  mother  was  pre- 
paring to  take  her  departure.  Since  his  return 
from  the  camp  she  was  her  son's  almost  constant 
attendant.  Betty's  chief  concern  was  for  the  mill 
outside,  and  the  careful  execution  of  the  man's 
orders  to  his  foremen.  She  took  a  share  of  the 
nursing,  but  only  in  moments  of  leisure,  and  these 
were  very  few.  Now  she  had  just  returned  from 
a  final  inspection  and  consultation  with  Dawson. 
And  the  glow  of  satisfaction  on  her  face  was  good 
to  see. 

"  Now,  mother  dear,"  she  said,  after  having  made 
her  report  to  Dave,  "  you've  got  to  be  off  home, 
and  to  bed.  You've  had  a  long,  hard  day,  and  I'm 
going  to  relieve  you.  Dave  is  all  right,  and,"  she 
added  with  a  smile,  "  maybe  he'll  be  better  still  be- 
fore morning.  We  expect  the  logs  down  by  day- 
light, and  then — I  guess  their  arrival  in  the  boom 
will  do  more  to  mend  his  poor  broken  shoulder 
than  all  our  quacks  and  nostrums.  So  be  off  with 
you.  I  shall  be  here  all  night.  I  don't  intend  to 
rest  till  the  first  log  enters  the  boom." 

The  old  woman  rose  wearily  from  her  rocking- 
chair  at  her  boy's  bedside.  Her  worn  face  was 
tired.  At  her  age  the  strain  of  nursing  was  very 
heavy.  But  whatever  weakness  there  was  in  her 
body,  her  spirit  was  as  strong  as  the  younger 
woman's.  Her  boy  was  sick,  and  nothing  else 


AT  MIDNIGHT  405 

could  compare  with  a  disaster  of  that  nature.  But 
now  she  was  ready  to  go,  for  so  it  had  been 
arranged  between  them  earlier. 

She  crossed  to  Betty's  side,  and,  placing  her  hands 
upon  the  girl's  shoulders,  kissed  her  tenderly  on  both 
cheeks. 

"  God  bless  and  keep  you,  dearie,"  she  said,  with 
deep  emotion.  "  I'd  like  to  tell  you  all  I  feel,  but 
I  can't.  You're  our  guardian  angel — Dave's  and 
mine.  Good-night." 

"  Good-night,  mother  dear,"  said  the  girl,  her 
eyes  brightening  with  a  suspicion  of  tears.  Then, 
with  an  assumption  of  lightness  which  helped  to 
disguise  her  real  feelings,  "  Now  don't  you  stay 
awake.  Go  right  off  to  sleep,  and — in  the  morning 
you  shall  hear — the  mills !  " 

The  old  woman  nodded  and  smiled.  Next  to 
her  boy  she  loved  this  motherless  girl  best  in  the 
world.  She  gathered  up  her  few  belongings  and 
went  to  the  bedside.  Bending  over  the  sick  man 
she  kissed  his  rugged  face  tenderly.  For  a  mo- 
ment one  great  arm  held  her  in  its  tremendous 
embrace,  then  she  toddled  out  of  the  room. 

Betty  took  her  rocking-chair.  She  sat  back  and 
rocked  herself  in  silence  for  some  moments.  Her 
eyes  wandered  over  the  curious  little  room,  noting 
the  details  of  it  as  though  hugging  to  herself  the 
memory  of  the  smallest  trifle  that  concerned  this 
wonderful  time  that  was  hers. 

There  was  Dave's  desk  before  the  window.  It 
was  hers  now.  There  were  the  vast  tomes  that 


406          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

recorded  his  output  of  lumber.  She  had  spent 
hours  over  them  calculating  figures  for  the  man 
beside  her.  There  were  the  flowers  his  mother  had 
brought,  and  which  she  had  found  time  to  arrange 
so  that  he  could  see  and  enjoy  them.  There  were 
the  bandages  it  was  her  duty  to  adjust.  There 
were  the  remains  of  the  food  of  which  they  had 
both  partaken. 

It  was  all  real,  yet  so  strange.  So  strange  to  her 
who  had  spent  her  life  surrounded  by  all  those  du- 
ties so  essentially  feminine,  so  closely  allied  to  her 
uncle's  spiritual  calling.  She  felt  that  she  had 
moved  out  into  a  new  world,  a  world  in  which  there 
was  room  for  her  to  expand,  in  which  she  could 
bring  into  play  all  those  faculties  which  she  had  al- 
ways known  herself  to  possess,  but  which  had  so 
long  lain  dormant  that  she  had  almost  come  to  re- 
gard her  belief  in  their  existence  as  a  mere  dream, 
a  mere  vanity. 

It  was  a  wonderful  thing  this,  that  had  happened 
to  her,  and  the  happiness  of  it  was  so  overwhelming 
that  it  almost  made  her  afraid.  Yet  the  fact  re- 
mained. She  was  working  for  him,  she  was  work- 
ing with  her  muscles  and  brain  extended.  She 
sighed,  and,  placing  her  hands  behind  her  head, 
stretched  luxuriously.  It  was  good  to  feel  the 
muscles  straining,  it  was  good  to  contemplate  the 
progress  of  things  in  his  interests,  it  was  good  to 
love,  and  to  feel  that  that  love  was  something  more 
practical  than  the  mere  sentimentality  of  awakened 
passion. 


AT  MIDNIGHT  407 

Her  wandering  attention  was  recalled  by  a  move- 
ment of  her  patient.  She  glanced  round  at  him, 
and  his  face  was  turned  toward  her.  Her  smiling 
eyes  responded  to  his  steady,  contemplative  gaze. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  said,  in  a  grave,  subdued  voice,  "  it 
ought  to  be  getting  near  now  ?  " 

The  girl  nodded. 

"  I  don't  see  how  we  can  tell  exactly,  but — unless 
anything  goes  wrong  the  first  logs  should  get 
through  before  daylight.  It's  good  to  think  of, 
Dave."  Her  eyes  sparkled  with  delight  at  the 
prospect. 

The  man  eyed  her  for  a  few  silent  moments,  and 
his  eyes  deepened  to  a  passionate  warmth. 

"  You're  a  great  little  woman,  Betty,"  he  said  at 
last.  "  When  I  think  of  all  you  have  done  for  me 
— well,  I  just  feel  that  my  life  can  never  be  long 
enough  to  repay  you  in.  Throughout  this  business 
you  have  been  my  second  self,  with  all  the  fresh- 
ness and  enthusiasm  of  a  mind  and  heart  thrilling 
with  youthful  strength.  I  can  never  forget  the 
journey  down  from  the  camp.  When  I  think  of 
the  awful  physical  strain  you  must  have  gone 
through,  driving  day  and  night,  with  a  prisoner  be- 
side you,  and  a  useless  hulk  of  a  man  lying  behind, 
I  marvel.  When  I  think  that  you  had  to  do  every- 
thing, feed  us,  camp  for  us,  see  to  the  horses  for  us, 
it  all  seems  like  some  fantastic  dream.  How  did 
you  do  it  ?  How  did  I  come  to  let  you  ?  It  makes 
me  smile  to  think  that  I,  in  my  manly  superiority, 
simply  lolled  about  with  a  revolver  handy  to  en- 


4o8          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

force  our  prisoner's  obedience  to  your  orders.  Ah, 
little  Betty,  I  can  only  thank  Almighty  God  that  I 
have  been  blest  with  such  a  little — friend." 

The  girl  laid  the  tips  of  her  fingers  over  his 
mouth. 

"  You  mustn't  say  these  things,"  she  said,  in  a 
thrilling  voice.  "  We — you  and  I — are  just  here 
together  to  work  out  your — your  plans.  God  has 
been  very,  very  good  to  me  that  He  has  given  me 
the  power,  in  however  small  a  degree,  to  help  you. 
Now  let  us  put  these  things  from  our  minds  for  a 
time  and  be — be  practical.  Talking  of  our  prisoner, 
what  are  you  going  to  do  with — poor  Jim?" 

It  was  some  moments  before  Dave  answered  her. 
It  was  not  that  he  had  no  answer  to  her  question, 
but  her  words  had  sent  his  mind  wandering  off 
among  long  past  days.  He  was  thinking  of  the 
young  lad  he  had  so  ardently  tried  to  befriend. 
He  was  thinking  of  the  "  poor  Jim"  of  then  and 
now.  He  was  recalling  that  day  when  those  two 
had  come  to  him  with  their  secret,  with  their 
youthful  hope  of  the  future,  and  of  all  that  day  had 
meant  to  him.  They  had  planned,  he  had  planned, 
and  now  it  was  all  so — different.  His  inclination 
was  to  show  this  man  leniency,  but  his  inclination 
had  no  power  to  alter  his  resolve. 

When  he  spoke  there  was  no  resentment  in  his 
tone  against  the  man  who  had  so  cruelly  tried  to 
ruin  him,  only  a  quiet  decision. 

"  I  want  you  to  tell  Simon  Odd  to  bring  him 
here,"  he  said.  Then  he  smiled.  "  I  intend  him  to 


AT  MIDNIGHT  409 

spend  the  night  with  me.  That  is,  until  the  first 
log  comes  down  the  river." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

The  man's  smile  increased  in  tenderness. 

"  Don't  worry  your  little  head  about  that,  Betty," 
he  said.  "  There  are  things  which  must  be  said  be- 
tween us.  Things  which  only  men  can  say  to  men. 
I  promise  you  he  will  be  free  to  go  when  the  mill 
starts  work — but  not  until  then."  His  eyes  grew 
stern.  "  I  owe  you  so  much,  Betty,"  he  went  on, 
4<  that  I  must  be  frank  with  you.  So  much  depends 
upon  our  starting  work  again  that  I  cannot  let  him 
go  until  that  happens." 

"  And  if— just  supposing — that  does  not  happen 
— I  mean,  supposing,  through  his  agency,  the  mill 
remains  idle  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  answer  you.  I  have  only  one  thing  to 
add."  Dave  had  raised  himself  upon  his  elbow, 
and  his  face  was  hard  and  set.  "  No  man  may 
bring  ruin  upon  a  community  to  satisfy  his  own 
mean  desires,  his  revenge,  however  that  revenge 
may  be  justified.  If  we  fail,  if  Malkern  is  to  be 
made  to  suffer  through  that  man — God  help  him  !  " 

The  girl  was  facing  him  now.  Her  two  hands 
were  outstretched  appealingly. 

"  But,  Dave,  should  you  judge  him  ?  Have  you 
the  right  ?  Surely  there  is  but  one  judge,  and  His 
alone  is  the  right  to  condemn  weak,  erring  human 
nature.  Surely  it  is  not  for  you — us." 

Dave  dropped  back  upon  his  pillow.  There  was 
no  relenting  in  his  eyes. 


4io          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

"  His  own  work  shall  judge  him,"  he  said  in  a 
hard  voice.  "  What  I  may  do  is  between  him  and 
me." 

Betty  looked  at  him  long  and  earnestly.  Then 
she  rose  from  her  chair. 

"  So  be  it,  Dave.  I  ask  you  but  one  thing. 
Deal  with  him  as  your  heart  prompts  you,  and  not 
as  your  head  dictates.  I  will  send  him  to  you,  and 
will  come  back  again — when  the  mill  is  at  work." 

Their  eyes  met  in  one  long  ardent  gaze.  The 
man  nodded,  and  the  smile  in  his  eyes  was  very, 
very  tender. 

"  Yes,  Betty.  Don't  leave  me  too  long — I  can't 
do  without  you  now." 

The  girl's  eyes  dropped  before  the  light  she  be- 
held in  his. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to — do  without  me,"  she  mur- 
mured. And  she  hurried  out  of  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

TWO   MEN — AND  A  WOMAN 

IT  took  some  time  for  Betty  to  carry  out  Dave's 
wishts.  Simon  Odd,  who  was  Jim  Truscott's  jailer 
while  the  mills  were  idle,  and  who  had  him  secreted 
away  where  curious  eyes  were  not  likely  to  discover 
him,  was  closely  occupied  with  the  preparations  at 
the  other  mill.  She  had  to  dispatch  a  messenger 
to  him,  and  the  messenger  having  found  Simon,  it 
was  necessary  for  the  latter  to  procure  his  prisoner 
and  hand  him  over  to  Dave  himself.  All  this  took 
a  long  time,  nearly  an  hour  and  a  half,  which  made 
it  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  before  Truscott  reached 
the  office  under  his  escort. 

Odd  presented  him  with  scant  ceremony.  He 
knocked  on  the  door,  was  admitted,  and  stood  close 
behind  his  charge's  shoulder. 

"  Here  he  is,  boss,"  said  the  man  with  rough 
freedom.  "  Will  I  stand  by  in  case  he  gits  gay  ?  " 

But  Dave  had  his  own  ideas.  He  needed  no  help 
from  anybody  in  dealing  with  this  man. 

"  No,"  he  said  at  once.  "  You  can  get  back  to 
your  mill.  I  relieve  you  of  all  further  responsibility 
of  your — charge.  But  you  can  pass  me  some  things 
to  prop  my  pillow  up  before  you  go." 

The  giant  foreman  did  as  he  was  bid.  Being  just 
a  plain  lumberman,  with  no  great  nicety  of  fancy 


4I2  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

he  selected  three  of  the  ledgers  for  the  purpose. 
Having  propped  his  employer  into  a  sitting  posture, 
he  took  his  departure  in  silence. 

Dave  waited  until  the  door  closed  behind  him. 
His  cold  eyes  were  on  the  man  who  had  so  nearly 
ruined  him,  who,  indirectly,  had  nearly  cost  him  his 
life.  As  the  door  closed  he  drew  his  right  hand 
from  under  the  blankets,  and  in  it  was  a  revolver. 
He  laid  the  weapon  on  the  blanket,  and  his  fingers 
rested  on  the  butt. 

Jim  Truscott  watched  his  movements,  but  his 
gaze  was  more  mechanical  than  one  of  active  inter- 
est. What  his  thoughts  were  at  the  moment  it  would 
have  been  hard  to  say,  except  that  they  were  neither 
easy  nor  pleasant,  if  one  judged  from  the  lowering 
expression  of  his  weak  face.  The  active  hatred 
which  he  had  recently  displayed  in  Dave's  presence 
seemed  to  be  lacking  now.  It  almost  seemed  as 
though  the  rough  handling  he  had  been  treated  to, 
the  failure  of  his  schemes  for  Dave's  ruin,  had  dulled 
the  edge  of  his  vicious  antagonism.  It  was  as 
though  he  were  indifferent  to  the  object  of  the 
meeting,  to  its  outcome.  He  did  not  even  seem  to 
appreciate  the  significance  of  the  presence  of  that 
gun  under  Dave's  fingers. 

His  attitude  was  that  of  a  man  beaten  in  the  fight 
where  all  the  odds  had  seemed  in  his  favor.  His 
mind  was  gazing  back  upon  the  scene  of  his  disaster 
as  though  trying  to  discover  the  joint  in  the  armor 
of  his  attack  which  had  rendered  him  vulnerable  and 
brought  about  his  defeat. 


TWO  MEN— AND  A  WOMAN        413 

Dave  understood  something  of  this.  His  under- 
standing was  more  the  result  of  his  knowledge  of  a 
character  he  had  studied  long  ago,  before  the  vicious 
life  the  man  had  since  lived  had  clouded  the  in- 
genuous impulses  of  a  naturally  weak  but  happy 
nature.  He  did  not  fathom  the  man's  thoughts,  he 
did  not  even  guess  at  them.  He  only  knew  the 
character,  and  the  rest  was  like  reading  from  an 
open  book.  In  his  heart  he  was  more  sorry  for 
him  than  he  would  have  dared  to  admit,  but  his 
mind  was  thinking  of  all  the  suffering  the  mischief 
of  this  one  man  had  caused,  might  yet  cause.  Betty 
had  displayed  a  wonderful  wisdom  when  she  bade 
him  let  his  heart  govern  his  judgment  in  dealing 
with  this  man. 

"  You'd  best  sit  down — Jim,"  Dave  said.  Already 
his  heart  was  defying  his  head.  That  use  of  a  fa- 
miliar first  name  betrayed  him.  "  It  may  be  a  long 
sitting.  You're  going  to  stay  right  here  with  me 
until  the  mill  starts  up  work.  I  don't  know  how 
long  that'll  be." 

Truscott  made  no  answer.  He  showed  he  had 
heard  and  understood  by  glancing  round  for  a  chair. 
In  this  quest  his  eyes  rested  for  a  moment  on  the 
closed  door.  They  passed  on  to  the  chair  at  the 
desk.  Then  they  returned  to  the  door  again.  Dave 
saw  the  glance  and  spoke  sharply. 

"  You'd  best  sit,  boy.  That  door  is  closed — to 
you.  And  I'm  here  to  keep  it  closed — to  you." 

Still  the  man  made  no  reply.  He  turned  slowly 
toward  the  chair  at  the  desk  and  sat  down.  His 


4I4          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

whole  attitude  expressed  weariness.  It  was  the 
dejected  weariness  of  a  brain  overcome  by  hope- 
lessness. 

Watching  him,  Dave's  mind  reverted  to  Betty  in 
association  with  him.  He  wondered  at  the  nature 
of  this  man's  regard  for  her,  a  regard  which  was  his 
excuse  for  the  villainies  he  had  planned  and  carried 
out  against  him,  and  the  mills.  His  thoughts  went 
back  to  the  day  of  their  boy  and  girl  engagement, 
as  he  called  it  now.  He  remembered  the  eager, 
impulsive  lover,  weak,  selfish,  but  full  of  passion  and 
youthful  protestations.  He  thought  of  his  decision 
to  go  away,  and  the  manner  of  it.  He  remembered 
it  was  Betty  who  finally  decided  for  them  both. 
And  her  decision  was  against  his  more  selfish  de- 
sires, but  one  that  opened  out  for  him  the  oppor- 
tunity of  showing  himself  to  be  the  man  she  thought 
him.  Yes,  this  man  had  been  too  young,  too  weak, 
too  self-indulgent.  There  lay  the  trouble  of  his  life. 
His  love  for  Betty,  if  it  could  be  called  by  so  pure  a 
name,  had  been  a  mere  self-indulgence,  a  passionate 
desire  of  the  moment  that  swept  every  other  con- 
sideration out  of  its  path.  There  was  not  that 
underlying  strength  needed  for  its  support.  Was 
he  wholly  to  blame  ?  Dave  thought  not. 

Then  there  was  that  going  to  the  Yukon.  He 
had  protested  at  the  boy's  decision.  He  had  known 
from  the  first  that  his  character  had  not  the  strength 
to  face  the  pitiless  breath  of  that  land  of  snowy 
desolation.  How  could  one  so  weak  pit  himself 
against  the  cruel  forces  of  nature  such  as  are  to  be 


TWO  MEN— AND  A  WOMAN       415 

found  in  that  land  ?  It  was  impossible.  The  in- 
evitable had  resulted.  He  had  fallen  to  the  temp- 
tations of  the  easier  paths  of  vice  in  Dawson,  and, 
lost  in  that  whirl,  Betty  was  forgotten.  His  passion 
died  down,  satiated  in  the  filthy  dives  of  Dawson. 
Then  had  come  his  return  to  Malkern.  Stinking 
with  the  contamination  of  his  vices,  he  had  returned 
caring  for  nothing  but  himself.  He  had  once  more 
encountered  Betty.  The  pure  fresh  beauty  of  the 
girl  had  promptly  set  his  vitiated  soul  on  fire.  But 
now  there  was  no  love,  not  even  a  love  such  as  had 
been  his  before,  but  only  a  mad  desire,  a  desire  as 
uncontrolled  as  the  wind-swept  rollers  of  a  raging 
sea.  It  was  the  culminating  evil  of  a  manhood  de- 
based by  a  long  period  of  loose,  vicious  living. 
She  must  be  his  at  any  cost,  and  opposition  only 
fired  his  desire  the  more,  and  drove  him  to  any 
length  to  attain  his  end.  The  pity  of  it !  A  spirit, 
a  bright  buoyant  spirit  lost  in  the  mad  whirl  of  a 
nature  it  had  not  been  given  him  the  power  to  con- 
trol. His  heart  was  full  of  a  sorrowful  regret.  His 
heart  bled  for  the  man,  while  his  mind  condemned 
his  ruthless  actions. 

He  lay  watching  in  a  silence  that  made  the  room 
seem  heavy  and  oppressive.  As  yet  he  had  no 
words  for  the  man  who  had  come  so  nearly  to  ruin- 
ing him.  He  had  not  brought  him  there  to  preach 
to  him,  to  blame  him,  to  twit  him  with  the  failure 
of  his  evil  plans,  the  failure  he  had  made  of  a  life 
that  had  promised  so  much.  He  held  him  there 
that  he  might  settle  his  reckoning  with  him,  once 


416  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

and  for  all,  in  a  manner  which  should  shut  him  out 
of  his  life  forever.  He  intended  to  perform  an  ac- 
tion the  contemplation  of  which  increased  the  sor- 
row he  felt  an  hundredfold,  but  one  which  he  was 
fully  determined  upon  as  being  the  only  course,  in 
justice  to  Betty,  to  Malkern,  to  himself,  possible. 

The  moments  ticked  heavily  away.  Truscott 
made  no  move.  He  gave  not  the  slightest  sign  of 
desiring  to  speak.  His  eyes  scarcely  heeded  his 
surroundings.  It  was  almost  as  if  he  had  no  care 
for  what  this  man  who  held  him  in  his  power  in- 
tended to  do.  It  almost  seemed  as  though  the 
weight  of  his  failure  had  crushed  the  spirit  within 
him,  as  though  a  dreary  lassitude  had  settled  itself 
upon  him,  and  he  had  no  longer  a  thought  for  the 
future. 

Once  during  that  long  silence  he  lifted  his  large 
bloodshot  eyes,  and  his  gaze  encountered  the  other's 
steady  regard.  They  dropped  almost  at  once,  but 
in  that  fleeting  glance  Dave  read  the  smouldering 
fire  of  hate  which  still  burned  deep  down  in  his  heart. 
The  sight  of  it  had  no  effect.  The  man's  face  alone 
interested  him.  It  looked  years  older,  it  bore  a 
tracery  of  lines  about  the  eyes  and  mouth,  which, 
at  his  age,  it  had  no  right  to  possess.  His  hair,  too, 
was  already  graying  amongst  the  curls  that  had  al- 
ways been  one  of  his  chief  physical  attractions.  It 
was  thinning,  too,  a  premature  thinning  at  the  tem- 
ples, which  also  had  nothing  to  do  with  his  age. 

Later,  again,  the  man's  eyes  turned  upon  the  door 
with  a  calculating  gaze.  They  came  back  to  the 


TWO  MEN— AND  A  WOMAN        417 

bed  where  Dave  was  lying.  The  movement  was 
unmistakable.  Dave's  fingers  tightened  on  the  butt 
of  his  revolver,  and  his  great  head  was  moved  in  a 
negative  shake,  and  the  ominous  shining  muzzle  of 
his  revolver  said  plainly, "  Don't !  "  Truscott  seemed 
to  understand,  for  he  made  no  movement,  nor  did 
he  again  glance  at  the  door. 

It  was  a  strange  scene.  It  was  almost  appalling 
in  its  significant  silence.  What  feelings  were  pass- 
ing, what  thoughts,  no  one  could  tell  from  the  faces 
of  the  two  men.  That  each  was  living  through  a 
small  world  of  recollection,  mostly  bitter,  perhaps 
regretful,  there  could  be  no  doubt,  yet  neither  gave 
any  sign.  They  were  both  waiting.  In  the  mind 
of  one  it  was  a  waiting  for  what  he  could  not  even 
guess  at,  in  the  other  it  was  for  something  for  which 
he  longed  yet  feared  might  not  come. 

The  hands  of  the  clock  moved  on,  but  neither 
heeded  them.  Time  meant  nothing  to  them  now. 
An  hour  passed.  An  hour  and  a  half.  Two  hours 
of  dreadful  silence.  That  vigil  seemed  endless,  and 
its  silence  appalling. 

Then  suddenly  a  sound  reached  the  waiting  ears. 
It  was  a  fierce  hissing,  like  an  escape  of  steam.  It 
grew  louder,  and  into  the  hiss  came  a  hoarse  tone, 
like  a  harsh  voice  trying  to  bellow  through 
the  rushing  steam.  It  grew  louder  and  louder. 
The  voice  rose  to  a  long-drawn  "  hoot,"  which  must 
have  been  heard  far  down  the  wide  spread  of  the 
Red  Sand  Valley.  It  struck  deep  into  Dave's  heart, 
and  loosed  in  it  such  a  joy  as  rarely  comes  to  the 


4i8  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

heart  of  man.  It  was  the  steam  siren  of  the  mill 
belching  out  its  message  to  a  sleeping  village.  The 
master  of  the  mills  had  triumphed  over  every  ob- 
stacle. The  mill  had  once  more  started 'work. 

Dave  waited  until  the  last  echo  of  that  welcome 
voice  had  died  out.  Then,  as  his  ears  drank  in  the 
welcome  song  of  his  saws,  plunging  their  jagged 
fangs  into  the  newly-arrived  logs,  he  was  content. 

He  turned  to  the  man  in  the  chair. 

"  Did  you  hear  that,  Jim?  D'you  know  what  it 
means  ?"  he  asked,  in  a  voice  softened  by  the  emo- 
tion of  the  moment. 

Truscott's  eyes  lifted.  But  he  made  no  answer. 
The  light  in  them  was  ugly.  He  knew. 

"  It  means  that  you  are  free  to  go,"  Dave  went 
on.  "  It  means  that  my  contract  will  be  success- 
fully completed  within  the  time  limit.  It  means 
that  you  will  leave  this  village  at  once  and  never 
return,  or  the  penitentiary  awaits  you  for  the  wreck- 
ing of  my  mills." 

Truscott  rose  from  his  seat.  The  hate  in  his 
heart  was  stirring.  It  was  rising  to  his  head.  The 
fury  of  his  eyes  was  appalling.  Dave  saw  it.  He 
shifted  his  gun  and  gripped  it  tightly. 

"  Wait  a  bit,  lad,"  he  said  coldly.  "  It  means  more 
than  all  that  to  you.  A  good  deal  more.  Can  you 
guess  it?  It  means  that  I — and  not  you — am  going 
to  marry  Betty  Somers." 

"  God ! " 

The  man  was  hit  as  Dave  had  meant  him  to  be 
hit.  He  started,  and  his  clenched  hand  went  up  as 


TWO  MEN— AND  A  WOMAN        419 

though  about  to  strike.  The  devil  in  his  eyes  was 
appalling. 

"  Now  go  !     Quick  !  " 

The  word  leaped  from  the  lumberman's  lips,  and 
his  gun  went  up  threateningly.  For  a  moment  it 
seemed  as  though  Truscott  was  about  to  spring 
upon  him,  regardless  of  the  weapon's  shining  muz- 
zle. But  he  did  not  move.  A  gun  in  Dave's  hand 
was  no  idle  threat,  and  he  knew  it.  Besides  he  had 
not  the  moral  strength  of  the  other. 

He  moved  to  the  door  and  opened  it.  Then  for 
one  fleeting  second  he  looked  back.  It  may  have 
been  to  reassure  himself  that  the  gun  was  still  there, 
it  may  have  been  a  last  expression  of  his  hate. 
Another  moment  and  he  was  gone.  Dave  replaced 
his  gun  beneath  the  blankets  and  sighed. 

Betty  sprang  into  the  room. 

"  Hello,  door  open  ? "  she  demanded,  glancing 
about  her  suspiciously.  Then  her  sparkling  eyes 
came  back  to  the  injured  man. 

"  Do  you  hear,  Dave?"  she  cried,  in  an  ecstasy 
of  excitement.  "  Did  you  hear  the  siren  !  I  pulled 
and  held  the  valve  cord  !  Did  you  hear  it !  Thank 
God ! " 

Dave's  happy  smile  was  sufficient  for  the  girl. 
Had  he  heard  it?  His  heart  was  still  ringing  with 
its  echoes. 

"  Betty,  come  here,"  he  commanded.  "  Help  me 
up." 

«  Why " 


420          THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

"  Help  me  up,  dear,"  the  man  begged.  "  I  must 
get  up.  I  must  get  to  the  door.  Don't  you  under- 
stand, child — I  must  see." 

"  But  you  can't  go  out,  Dave ! " 

"  I  know.  I  know.  Only  to  the  door.  But — I 
must  see." 

The  girl  came  over  to  his  bedside.  She  lifted 
him  with  a  great  effort.  He  sat  up.  Then  he 
swung  his  feet  off  the  bed. 

"  Now,  little  girl,  help  me." 

It  felt  good  to  him  to  enforce  his  will  upon  Betty 
in  this  way.  And  the  girl  obeyed  him  with  all  her 
strength,  with  all  her  heart  stirred  at  his  evident 
weakness. 

He  stood  leaning  on  her  shakily. 

"  Now,  little  Betty,"  he  said,  breathing  heavily, 
"  take  me  to  the  door." 

He  placed  his  sound  arm  round  her  shoulders. 
He  even  leaned  more  heavily  upon  her  than  was 
necessary.  It  was  good  to  lean  on  her.  He  liked 
to  feel  her  soft  round  shoulders  under  his  arm. 
Then,  too,  he  could  look  down  upon  the  masses  of 
warm  brown  hair  which  crowned  her  head.  To 
him  his  weakness  was  nothing  in  the  joy  of  that 
moment,  in  the  joy  of  his  contact  with  her. 

They  moved  slowly  toward  the  door ;  he  made 
the  pace  slower  than  necessary.  To  him  they  were 
delicious  moments.  To  Betty — she  did  not  know 
what  she  felt  as  her  arm  encircled  his  great  waist, 
and  all  her  woman's  strength  and  love  was  ex- 
tended to  him. 


TWO  MEN— AND  A  WOMAN        421 

At  the  door  they  paused.  They  stared  out  into 
the  yards.  The  great  mills  loomed  up  in  the  ruddy 
flare  light.  It  was  a  dark,  shadowy  scene  in  that 
inadequate  light.  The  steady  shriek  of  the  saws 
filled  the  air.  The  grinding  of  machinery  droned 
forth,  broken  by  the  pulsing  throb  of  great  shafts 
and  moving  beams.  Men  were  hurrying  to  and 
fro,  dim  figures  full  of  life  and  intent  upon  the 
labors  so  long  suspended.  They  could  see  the 
trimmed  logs  sliding  down  the  shoots,  they  could 
hear  the  grind  of  the  rollers,  they  could  hear  the 
shoutings  of  "  checkers  " ;  and  beyond  they  could 
see  the  glowing  reflection  of  the  waste  fire. 

It  was  a  sight  that  thrilled  them  both.  It  was  a 
sight  that  filled  their  hearts  with  thanks  to  God. 
Each  knew  that  it  meant — Success. 

Dave  turned  from  the  sight,  and  his  eyes  looked 
down  upon  the  slight  figure  at  his  side.  Betty 
looked  up  into  his  face.  Her  eyes  were  misty  with 
tears  of  joy.  Suddenly  she  dropped  her  eyes  and 
looked  again  at  the  scene  before  them.  Her  heart 
was  beating  wildly.  Her  arm  supporting  the  man 
at  her  side  was  shaking,  nor  was  it  with  weariness 
of  her  task.  She  felt  that  it  could  never  tire  of 
that.  Dave's  deep  voice,  so  gentle,  yet  so  full  of 
the  depth  and  strength  of  his  nature,  was  speaking. 

"  It's  good,  Betty.  It's  good.  We've  won  out — 
you  and  I." 

Her  lips  moved  to  protest  at  the  part  she  had 
played,  but  he  silenced  her. 

"  Yes,  you  and  I,"  he  said  softly.     "  It's  all  ours 


422  THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  AXE 

— yours  and  mine.  You'll  share  it  with  me  ?  "  The 
girl's  supporting  arm  moved  convulsively.  "  No, 
no,"  he  went  on  quickly.  "  Don't  take  your  arm 
away.  I  need — I  need  its  support.  Betty — little 
Betty — I  need  more  than  that.  I  need  your  sup- 
port always.  Say,  dear,  you'll  give  it  me.  You 
won't  leave  me  alone  now  ?  Betty — Betty,  I  love 
you — so — so  almighty  badly." 

The  girl  moved  her  head  as  though  to  avoid  his 
kisses  upon  her  hair.  Somehow  her  face  was  lifted 
in  doing  so,  and  they  fell  at  once  upon  her  lips 
instead. 


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Anna  the  Adventuress.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenneim. 

Ann   Boyd.     By  Will  N.  Harben. 

As  the  Sparks  Fly   Upward..   By  Cyrus  Townsend  Brady. 

At  the  Age  of  Eve.     By  Kate  Trimble  Sharber. 

At  the  Mercy  of  Tiberius.     By  Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 

At   the    Moorings.    By   Rosa   N.    Carey. 

Awakening  of   Helen   Richie,  The.     By  Margaret  Deland. 

Barrier,  The.     By  Rex  Beach. 

Bar  20.     By  Clarence  E.  Mulford. 

Bar-20   Days.     By   Clarence  E.   Mulfird. 

Battle  Ground,  The.     By  Ellen  Glasgow. 

Beau    Brocade.     By  Baroness  Orczy. 

Beechy.     By  Bettina  von  Hutten. 

Bella   Donna.     By  Robert  Hichens. 

Beloved  Vagabond,  The.     By  William  J.  Locke. 

Ben    Blair.     By  Will  Lillibridge. 

Best  Man,  The.    By  Harold  McGrath. 

Beth   Norvell.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

Betrayal,  The.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Better  Man,  The.     By  Cyrus  Townsend  Brady. 

Beulah.     (Illustrated  Edition.)     By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 

Bill  Toppers,  The.     By  Andre  Castaigne. 

Blaze  Derringer.     By  Eugene  P.  Lyle,  Jr. 

Bob  Hampton  of  Placer.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

Bob,  Son   of   Battle.     By  Alfred  Ollivant. 

Brass   Bawl,   The.     By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 

Bronze  Bell,  The.     By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 

Butterfly  Man,  The.     By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

By  Right  of  Purchase..   By  Harold  Bindloss. 

Cab   No.  44.     By  R.   F.  Foster. 

Calling  of  Dan   Matthews,  The.     By  Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Call  of  the  Blood,  The.     By  Robert  Hichens. 

Cape  Cod  Stories.     By  Joseph  C.Lincoln. 

Cap'n    Eri.     By   Joseph    C.    Lincoln. 

Captain   Warren's  Wards.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Caravaners,  The.     By  the  author  of   "Elizabeth  and  Her  German 

Garden." 

Cardigan.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 
Carlton  Case,  The.     By  Ellery  H.  Clark. 
Car  of  Destiny.  The.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 
Carpet    From    Bagdad,   The.     By  Harold   MacGrath. 
Cash    Intrigue,   The.     By  George  Randolph   Chester. 
Casting  Away  of  Mrs.  Leeks  and  Mrs.  Aleshine.  Frank  S{.  Stockton. 
Castle  by  the  Sea,  The.     By  H.  B.  Harriot  Watson. 
Challoners,  The.     By  E.  F.  Benson. 
Chaperon,  The.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 
City  of  Six,  The.    By  C.  L.  Canfield. 


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Circle,  The.     By  Katherine  Cecil  Thurston   (author  of  "The  Mas- 

querader,"    "The   Gamoier."; 

Colonial    Free   Lance,  A.     By  Chauncey  C.  Hotchkiss. 
Conquest  of  Canaan,  The.     By  Booth  Tarkington. 
Conspirators,   The.     By  Robert  W.   Chambers. 
Cynthia  of  the   Minute.     By  Louis  Joseph   Vance. 
Dan    Merrithew.     By  Lawrence  Perry. 
Day  or  the   Dog,   The.     By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 
Depot  Master,   The.     By  Joseph   C.  Lincoln. 
Derelicts.     By  William  J.   Locke. 
Diamond    Master,    The.      By   Jacques   Futrelle. 
Diamonds  Cut  Paste.     By  Agnes  and  Egerton  Castle. 
Divine   Fire,   The.     By  May  Sinclair. 
Dixie   Hart.     By  Will  N.  Harben. 
Dr.   David.     By  Marjorie  Benton  Cooke. 
Early  Bird,  The.     By  George  Randolph  Chester. 
Eleventh  Hour,  The.     By  David  Potter. 
Elizabeth  in  Rugen.  (By  the  author  of  "Elizabeth  and  Her  German 

Garden.") 

Elusive   Isabel.     By  Jacques  Futrelle. 
Elusive   Pimpernel,   The.     By  Baroness  Orczy. 
Enchanted   Hat,  The.     By  Harold  McGrath. 
Excuse   Me.     By  Rupert  Hughes. 
54-40  or   Fight.     By  Emerson  Hough. 
Fighting   Chance,   The.     By  Robert  W.   Chambers. 
Flamsted   Quarries.     By  Mary  E.  Waller. 
Flying   Mercury,   The.     By  Eleanor  M.  Ingram. 
For  a   Maiden   Brave.     By  Chauncey  C.  Hotchkiss. 
Feur   Million,   The.     By  O.   Henry. 
Four   Pool's   Mystery,   The.     By  Jean  Webster. 
Fruitful    Vine,   The.     By  Robert  Hichens. 
Canton  &  Co.    By  Arthur  J.  Eddy. 
Gentleman   of   France,   A.     By  Stanley  Weyman. 
Gentleman,  The.     By  Alfred  Ollivant. 

Get- Rick-Quick- Wallingford.     By  George  Randolph  Chester. 
Gilbert   Neal.     By  Will  N.   Harben. 
Girl  and  the  Bill,  The.     By  Bannister  Merwin. 
Girl  from   His  Town,  The.     By  Marie  Van  Vorst. 
Girl   Who   Won,   The.     By  Beth  Ellis. 
Glory  of  Clementina,  The.     By  William  J.  Locke. 
Glory  of  the  Conquered,  The.     By  Susan  Glaspell. 
God's  Good   Man.     By  Marie  Corelli. 
Going  Some.     By  Rex  Beach. 
Golden   Web,  The.     By  Anthony  Partridge. 
Green   Patch,  The.     By  Bettina  von  Hutten. 
Happy   Island  (sequel  to  "Uncle  William).     By  Jennette  Lee. 
Hearts  and  the   Highway.    By  Cyrus  Townsend  Brady. 
Held  for  Orders.     By  Frank  H.   Spearman. 
Hidden   Water.     By  Dane   Coolidge. 
Highway  of  Fate.  The.     By  Rosa  N.  Carey. 
Homesteaders,   The.     By  Kate  and  Virgil  'D.  Boyles. 
Honor  of  the   Big  Snows,  The.     By  James  Oliver  Curwood. 
Hopalong   Cassidy.       By  Clarence  E.   Mulford, 
Household  of  Peter.  The.     By  Rosa  N.  Carey. 
House  of  Mystery,  The.     By  Will  Irwin. 
House  of  the  Lost  Court,  The.     By  C.  N.  Williamson. 
House  of  the  Whispering  Pines,  The.     By  Anna  Katherine  Gre»» 


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House   on   Cherry  Street,   The.     By  Amelia  E.   Barr. 
How   Leslie   Loved.     By  Anne  Warner. 
Husbands  of   Edith,   The.     By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 
Idols.     By  William  J.  Locke. 

Illustrious    Prince,    The.       By   E.    Phillips   Oppenheim. 
Imprudence  of   Prue,  The.     By  Sophie  Fiaher. 
Inez.     (Illustrated  Edition.)     By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 
I  nf  el  ice.     By  Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 
Initials  Only.     By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 
In   Defiance  of  the  King.     By  Chauncey  C.  Hotchkise. 
Indifference   of  Juliet,   The.     By  Grace   S.   Richmond. 
In  the  Service  of  the   Princess.     By  Henry  C.  Rowland. 
Iron   Woman,  The.     By  Margaret  Deland. 
Ishmael.     (Illustrated.)     By  Mrs.  Southworth. 
Island  of  Regeneration,  The.     By     Cyrus  Townsend  Brady. 
Jack  Spurlock.   Prodigal.     By  Horace  Lorimer. 
Jane  Cable.     By  George  Barr  McCutcheon  . 
Jeanne  of  the  Marshes.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Jude  the  Obsotiie.     By  Thomas  Hardy. 
Keith  of  the   Border.     By  Randall  Parrish. 
Key  to  the  Unknown,  The.     By  Rosa  N.  Carey. 
Kingdom  of  Earth,  The.     By  Anthony  Partridge. 
King   Spruce.     By   Holman   Day. 
Ladder  of  Swords,  A.     By  Gilbert  Parker. 

Lady  Betty  Across  the  Water.     By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 
Lady   Merton,  Colonist.     By  Mrs.  Humphrey  Ward. 
Lady  of  Big  Shanty,  The.     By  Berkeley  F.  Smith. 
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Langford  of  the  Three  Bars.     By  Kate  and  Virgil  D.  Boyles. 
Land   of   Long  Ago,  The.     By  Eliza  Calvert  Hall. 
Lane  That  Had   No  Turning,  The.     By  Gilbert  Parker. 


Last  Voyage  of  the  Donna  Isabel,  The.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

Leavenworth   Case,  The.     By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 

Lin   McLean.     By  Owen  WMster. 

Little  Brown  Jug  at  Klldare,  The.    By  Meredith  Nicholson. 

Loaded    Dice.      By  Ellery  H.   Clarke. 

Lord  Loveland  Discovers  America.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Will! 

Lorimer  of  the   Northwest.     By  Harold  Bindloss. 

Lorraine.     By  Robert  W.   Chambers. 

Lost  Ambassador,  The.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Love  Under  Fire.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

Loves  of  Miss  Anne,  The.     By  S.  R.  Crockett. 

Macaria.     (Illustrated  Edition.)     By  Augusta  J.  Evans 

Mademoiselle   Celeste.     By  Adele   Ferguson   Knight. 

Maid  at  Arms,  The.     By  Robert  W.  Chambers 

Maid  of  Old   New  York,  A.     By  Amelia  E    Barr 

Majd  of  the  Whispering   Hills,   The.     By  Vingie'Roe. 

Maids  of  Paradise.  The.      By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 


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Man  Outside,  The.      By  Wyndham  Martyn. 
Man  in  the   Brown   Derby,  The.     By  Wells  Hastings. 
Marriage  a  la  Mode.    By  Mrs.  Humphrey  Ward. 
Marriage  of  Theodora,  The.     By  Molly  Elliott  Seawell 
Marriage  Under  the  Terror,  A.    By  Patricia  Wentworth 
Master  Mummer,  The.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim 
Masters  of  the  Wheatlands.    By  Harold  Bindloss.  ' 


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Max.     By  Katherine   Cecil   Thurston. 

Memoirs  of  Sherlock   Holmes.     By  A.   Conan  Doyle. 

Millionaire   Baby,   The.     By  Anna   Katharine  Green. 

Missioner,    The.     By   E.    Phillips   Oppenheim. 

Miss  Selina   Luc.     By  Maria  Thompson  Daviess. 

Mistress  of  Brae  Farm,  The.     By  Rosa  N.   Carey. 

Money   Moon,   The.     By  Jeffery  Farnol. 

Motor  Maid,  The.     By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Much  Ado  About  Peter.     By  Jean  Webster. 

Mr.   Pratt.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

My   Brother's   Keeper.     By  Charles  Tenny  Jackson. 

My  Friend  the  Chauffeur.     By  C.   N.  and  A.   M.  Williamson 

My  Lady  Caprice  (author  of  the  "Broad  Higway").    Jeffery  Farnol. 

My  Lady  of   Doubt.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

My  Lady  of  the   North.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

My   Lady  of  the  South.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

Mystery  Tales.     By  Edgar  Allen  Poe. 

Nancy  Stair.     By  Elinor  Macartney  Lane. 

Ne'er-Do-Well,  The.     By  Rex  Beach. 

No  Friend   Like  a  Sister.     By  Rosa  N.  Carey. 

Officer  666.     By  Barton  W.  Currie  and  Augustin  McHugh. 

One   Braver  Thing.     By  Richard  Dehan. 

Order    No.   11.     By   Caroline   Abbot   Stanley. 

Orphan,   The.     By   Clarence   E.    Mulford. 

Out  of  the  Primitive.     By  Robert  Ames  Bennett. 

Pam.     By  Bettina  von   Hutten. 

Pam   Decides.     By  Bettina  von  Hutton. 

Pardners.     By  Rex  Beach. 

Partners  of  the  Tide.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Passage   Perilous,   The.    'By  Rosa  N.  Carey. 

Passers   By.    By  Anthony  Partridge. 

Paternoster   Ruby,  The.     By  Charles  Edmonds  Walk. 

Patience  of  John    Moreland,  The.     By  Mary  Dillon. 

Paul   Anthony,   Christian.     By  Hiram  W.   Hays. 

Phillip  Steele.     By  James  Oliver  Curwood. 

Phra  the  Phoenician.     By  Edwin  Lester  Arnold. 

Plunderer,  The.     By  Roy  Norton. 

Pole  Baker.     By  Will  N.  Harben. 

Politician,  The.     By  Edith  Huntington  Mason. 

Polly  of  the  Circus.     By  Margaret  Mayo. 

Pool  of  Flame,  The.     By  Louis  Joseh  Vance. 

Poppy..   By  Cynthia  Stockley. 

Power  and  the  Glory,  The.     By  Grace  McGowan  Cooke. 

Price  of  the  Prairie,  The.     By  Ma-garet  Hill  McCarter. 

Prince  of  Sinners,  A.    By  E.  Phillis  Oppenheim. 

Prince  or  Chauffeur.     By  Lawrence  Perry. 

Princess  Dehra,  The.     By  John  Reed  Scott. 

Princess  Passes,  The.     By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Princess  Virginia,  The.       By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Prisoners  of  Chance.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

Prodigal  Son,  The.    By  Hall  Calne. 

Purple  Parasol,  The.      By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 


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Reconstructed   Marriage,  A.    By  Amelia  Barr. 

Redemption  of  Kenneth  Gait,  The.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 

Red   House  on   Rowan  Street.    By  Roman  Doubleday. 

Red  Mouse,  The.    By  William  Hamilton  Osborne. 

Red  Pepper  Burns.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Refugees,  The.    By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Rejuvenation  of  Aunt  Mary,  The.    By  Anne  Warner. 

Road  to  Providence,  The.    By  Maria  Thompson  Daviess. 

Romance  of  a   Plain   Man,  The.    By  Eilen  Glasgow. 

Rose   in   the   Ring,   The.     By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Rose  of  Old  Harpeth,  The.     By  Maria  Thompson  Daviea 

Rose  of  the  World.     By  Agnes  and  Egerton  Castle. 

Round  the  Corner  in  Gay  Street.     By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Routledge     Rides  Alone.    By  Will  Livingston  Comfort. 

Running    Fight,    The.     By  Wm.   Hamilton   Osborne. 

Seats  of  the   Mighty,  The.    By  Gilbert  Parker. 

Septimus.     By  William  J.  Locke. 

Set  in  Silver.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Self- Raised.     (Illustrated.)     By  Mrs.   Southworth. 

Shepherd  of  the  Hills,  The.     By  Harold  Bell  Wright 

Sheriff  of  Dyke  Hole,  The.     By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Sidney  Carteret,   Rancher.     By  Harold  Bindloss. 

Simon  the  Jester.     By  William  J.  Locke. 

Silver  Blade,  The.    By  Charles  E.  Walk. 

Silver  Horde,  The.    By  Rex  Beach. 

Sir  Nigel.    By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Sir   Richard   Calmady.    By  Lucas  Malet. 

Skyman,  The.    By  Henry  Ketchell  Webster. 

Slim  Princess,  The.    By  George  Ade. 

Speckled  Bird,  A.    By  Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 

Spirit  In    Prison,  A.     By  Robert  Hichens. 

Spirit  of  the  Border,  The.    By  Zane  Grey. 

Spirit  Trail,  The.     By  Kate  and  Virgil  D.  Boyles. 

Spoilers,  The.    By  Rex  Beach. 

Stanton  Wins.     By  Eleanor  M.  Ingram. 

St.  Elmo.    (Illustrated  Edition.)     By  Augusta  J.  Evams. 

Stolen  Singer,  The.     By  Martha  Bellinger. 

Stooping   Lady,  The.     By  Maurice  Hewlett. 

Story  of  the  Outlaw,  The.    By  Emerson  Hough. 

Strawberry  Acres.     By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Strawberry  Handkerchief,  The.     By  Amelia  E.  Barr. 

Sunnyside  of  the  Hill,  The.    By  Rosa  N.  Carey. 

Sunset  Trail,  The.    By  Alfred  Henry  Lewis. 


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Susan  Clegg  and  Her  Friend  Mrs.  Lathrop.     By  Anne  Warner. 

Sword  of  the  Old   Frontier,  A.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

Tales  of  Sherlock  Holmes.     By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Tennessee  Shad,  The.     By  Owen  Johnson. 

Tess  of  the  D'Urbervilles.     By  Thomas  Hardy. 

Texican,  The.     By  Dane  Coolidge. 

That  Printer  of  Udell's.    By  Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Three   Brothers,   The.     By  Eden   Phillpotts. 

Throwback,  The.     By  Alfred  Henry  Lewis. 

Thurston  of  Orchard  Valley.    By  Harold  Bindloss. 

Title   Market,  The.     By  Emi]y  Post. 

Torn  Sails.    A  Tale  of  a  Welsh  Village.     By  Allen  Raine. 

Trail  of  the  Axe,  The.    By  Ridgwell  Culium. 

Treasure  of  Heaven,  The.    By  Marie  Corelli. 

Two-Gun   Man,  The.     By  Charles  Alden  Seltzer. 

Two  Van  revels,  The.     By  Booth  Tarkington. 

Uncle  William.     By  Jennette  Lee. 

Up  from  Slavery.     By  Booker  T.  Washington. 

Vanity  Box,  The.     By  C.  N.  Williamson. 

Vashti.     By  Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 

Varmint,  The.     By  Owen  Johnson. 

Vigilante  Girl,  A.     By  Jerome  Hart. 

Village  of  Vagabonds,  A.    By  F.  Berkeley  Smith. 

Visloning,  The.     By  Susan  Glaspell. 

Voice  of  the  People,  The.     By  Ellen  Glasgow. 

Wanted — A  Chaperon.     By  Paul  Leicester  Ford. 

Wanted:  A  Matchmaker.     By  Paul  Leicester  Ford. 

Watchers  of  the  Plains,  The.     Ridgwell  Culium. 

Wayfarers,   The.     By  Mary  Stewart  Cutting. 

Way  of  a  Man,  The.    By  Emerson  Hough. 

Weavers,  The.    By  Gilbert  Parker. 

When  Wilderness  Was  King.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

Where  the  Trail  Divides.     By  Will  Lillibridge. 

White  Sister,  The.     By  Marion  Crawford. 

Window  at  the  White  Cat,  The.    By  Mary  Roberts  Rhinehart. 

Winning   of   Barbara   Worth,   The.    By  Harold  Bell  Wright. 

With   Juliet  In   England.     By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Woman   Haters,  The.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Woman   In  Question,  The.     By  John  Reed  Scott. 

Woman  in  the  Alcove,  The.     By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 

Yellow  Circle,  The.     By  Charles  E.  Walk. 

Yellow   Letter,   The.     By  William  Johnston. 

Younger  Set,  The.     By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 


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